


I'm (Not) Fine

by Desmenn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, BAMF Derek Hale, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Depression, Derek Hale is a Good Alpha, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fanart, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Full Shift Werewolves, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Humor, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kidnapping, M/M, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Protective Derek Hale, Recovery, Scott is a Bad Friend, Scott is a Good Friend, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3251813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desmenn/pseuds/Desmenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott is finally old enough to get bitten and turned. He doesn't even hesitate. Which leaves Stiles alone while his best friend runs off chasing girls and wolves. But trying to cheer up some melodramatic teenage boy is not at the top of the list of things that need to be done- and Stiles' knows it. Because there are people in town threatening the Hale pack and Derek can't shake this sense of foreboding. Not to mention he's pretty sure one of Scott's friends is his mate.</p><p>((previously Strength and Weakness))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will add tags as I go along. This will have a happy ending, and art when I finish that. Also, due to the nature of this AU, I suggest reading the notes at the end if you have any confusion.  
> Also! Before any of you get all butthurt over how I portray Derek or Scott or anyone else, you need to understand this is my take on how they would be in this universe. Obviously their past and experiences are going to shape them profoundly, so if Derek seems OC it's because he literally has grown up in a much better way than canonically.  
> Finally note: Please be careful reading this, it's going to get very dark before it gets better.

Being born a werewolf does not, contrary to popular belief, make life any easier. In fact, if you were to ask a five year old Derek Hale, he would tell you that it really sucked. But then again, most five year olds who did not get their way every time would say the same thing. Being the second kid of the Hale pack opened up a lot of doors for a kid Derek's age, though. He got away with a lot more than he should have as a kid. The way he acted would make you think maybe _he_ was next in line to be Alpha, and not Laura.

He was determined, however impossible it seemed, to become an Alpha. It seemed right to him. Natural, even. Not even the heated glares his sister sent him could deter him.

                His bossy attitude and overly possessive behavior got him in trouble more often than he liked to remember.

Talia was almost constantly telling him to back off his younger sisters and brother and let them have their own lives. If he wasn't dictating their lives he was growling at anyone who tried to touch them. And as a kid Derek had a hard time with control. He had no shame in showcasing his wolf in public- doing semi and half shifts just to get attention. It was distasteful and Derek learned quickly that getting scolded by his Alpha mother was so much worse than getting to show off.

                Talia knew by Derek's tenth birthday that there was no way he would be staying as her beta when he became an adult. If she had to guess, she would say that he was going to move out as soon as he could and start his own pack as an Alpha. She would support him, but not indulge him. He was a hell-child.

                And she was right to do so. Because it took all the boy's determination and strength to successfully control himself throughout his high school career. He didn't leave immediately after, though. He put off starting a pack for a few years while he got a degree in engineering at the local college.

                By twenty-one Derek was doing well for himself, having got a nice job with a flexible schedule and had found a nice loft to live in. His mother gave him the building as a 'graduation' gift (she was extremely proud of him for 'finally coming into his own'). So with a nice apartment building on top of his job, he was making very good money. Which worked perfectly for his plans. Not that he exactly had to have a cushy job to begin with; his family were one of the wealthiest in the state. Talia wasn't one to just go giving it out, though. She expected the kids that left the pack to fend for themselves. So even if she happened to gift a building or a few thousand dollars to her son every once in a while, it wasn't like she was taking care of him or anything. Derek was an adult now, who would just have to fend for himself.

                As soon as Derek moved out of his family house he started the tedious task of partially severing the bond to his Alpha. It was two weeks of cold-like symptoms (wow how the fuck did humans do that??) before Derek finally felt the innate status inside of him come forth. The day he had literally been dreaming of since he was a little kid was finally, finally here. He spent basically all afternoon stopping to look in every mirror around his loft just to see his red iris. It was exhilarating; he finally felt right.

                Of course what was an Alpha without a beta or two?

                So the next day he went to the public office and registered himself before filling out the necessary forms to begin interviewing potential betas. As a new Alpha he could only choose three, and getting on the list was hard enough as it was for a human, actually getting chosen and turned was nearly impossible.

                It took two whole weeks before Derek got a reply from the office. They had two potential betas willing to join his pack. Interviews were set up and not a month later Derek was welcoming Erica and Isaac to his new pack. It was starting to feel like his own little family. They pretty much moved in with him, some nights even guilting him into sharing the bed like some trio of puppies or some other ironic situation he didn't want to think about. He didn't argue though. Feeling the fluid affection, trust that they shared willingly and openly with him made him feel good. It made him feel like he was actually doing something right. He would admit his confidence rose a bit.

                Something was still missing, though, so Derek kept his name in the database, hoping a third beta would fix it. Not that he didn't already have his hands full with two freshly turned werewolves, but at least they were given a few months bonding and training time away from family, friends, and school to get used to the new life.

                Not that it really took that long for them. Isaac was timid, only shifting when he was requested to. He was naturally submissive, but wasn't afraid to stand up for himself if Erica got too mouthy- which was more often than Derek would like. He had already lost count of how many times he'd come home to find Erica and Isaac growling and wrestling around on the floor like two mutts. He put a stop to that when they broke his coffee table.

                Erica was harder to get under control. She was rowdy and bitchy, taking her change as some epic new lease on life. Derek had to put her in her place quite often. He didn't blame her though, not after she shared with him why she'd been turned. She tended to get kind of loose-lipped when she was tired, and it was only the second surprisingly-not-awkward cuddle session that she revealed she used to have epilepsy, and had used the bite to correct it and give herself a somewhat normal life. Derek had simply nodded and pet her hair while she drifted to sleep. They were closer after that.

                By the time he got word of the boy asking to join his pack Derek had nearly taught both of the new betas complete control. He hoped the last beta would be just as easy.

___

                Scott McCall was the type of person who, when he knew what he wanted or liked, would literally pour his whole heart and soul into that thing. Take lacrosse for example- after seeing that first game in middle school he had drug his best friend, Stiles, out into his back yard and they'd started practicing. He worked hard, even if he was bad at it, until he made the team. So really it didn't come as any surprise (exasperation, yes) to anyone when at fourteen Scott decided he wanted to become a werewolf after watching a documentary at school. Melissa and Stiles had to listen for months about it.

                And Stiles had to give him some credit because when Scott wanted to know something he would almost obsessively research it, probably worse than the kicks Stiles got off on himself. By freshman year he was like a walking encyclopedia of werewolf knowledge.

                He spent his entire fifteenth birthday complaining about how the age of turning consent was total shit and how he should have just been born a wolf. Melissa made him clean the kitchen even though it was supposed to be his one day free of chores. Stiles thought he might be a little crazy but he kept his mouth shut.

                As soon as Scott turned sixteen, as in the morning of his birthday, he went to the public office as they opened so he could fill out a request for turning. It had taken four entire months prior of constant nagging, begging, attempted blackmailing, and subsequent groveling to convince his mom to sign the form of consent.

                Every day after that he would race home and check his mail, waiting like some deprived puppy for word of literally any Alpha. Hell, he would probably take some freaky loner that lived in the woods at that point. Not that Melissa would let him join that pack, but Scott was ever hopeful. Stiles kept his mouth shut but he thought it was equal parts pathetic and endearing.

                Nearly a whole month later and Scott finally got his letter.

                From a Hale.

                With a confirmation.

                Holy. Shit. Okay, when he had applied, the exact last pack he thought he would be joining was the Hale's. They were like freaking celebrities in town. Maybe even the state. The second most powerful wolf pack in North America? Yeah, that got some freaking attention. And wow, Scott was about to be an actual part of that attention. Maybe he would be on some cover of a magazine or something. Maybe he could work his way up and be number two, maybe he could become the successor and become Alpha if he outlived the current one. That thought made him both giddy and anxious and he spent the rest of the afternoon spamming, calling, and pestering a worried, annoyed Stiles.

                Eventually Scott just hopped on his bike and pedaled to his best friend’s house, not even bothering to knock.

John Stilinski nearly dropped his coffee in surprise when a streak of brown and red shot past him and up the stairs as he left the kitchen. He froze for a solid twelve seconds before shaking his head and moving to the couch to rest before he had to return to the station for the night shift, muttering about kids and how they had no patience.

                "Stiles are you ignoring me?" Scott demanded as he burst into the room, not even bothering to knock. Which, he should know better than to do, considering how many times he had walked in on Stiles doing some less-than savory activities in the supposed 'privacy' of his bedroom.

                The brown haired boy, in response to the sudden noise and movement, flailed dramatically and nearly upended himself from his computer chair. With wide eyes he quickly shot a hand out to slam his laptop closed before glaring at Scott and hissing out a, "Fucking knoooock."

                Scott ignored him, obviously not caring at all what he had just been doing. He really didn't want to know. Not in the least.

                "I have been trying to talk to you since two!" he spit, taking a seat on the edge of Stiles' bed and kicking at the clothes on the floor. Was that his shirt?

                "I was kind of busy, if you haven't noticed. Besides, it's the last day before the beginning of our sophomore lives. I need some time to prepare," he said sarcastically, leveling a bland look at his friend. The other boy didn't even blink at the response, instead grinning and holding up the letter of request.

                "Look. Someone replied. I have an interview tomorrow after school-"

                "What about lacrosse?" Stiles interrupted, looking genuinely interested now. Scott frowned for a second before grinning again.

                "Screw lacrosse, the Alpha requesting me is a freaking _Hale!_ " he whipped the paper around to emphasize his point. Stiles' eyes widened comically before he jerked forward to snatch the letter out of his hands. He read quickly before jumping up and running to his closet, knocking his desk chair onto its side in the process.

Scott watched him in confused silence for a moment while he started throwing things aggressively out of his way. Scott had to duck a few times to avoid being hit with random objects. He was pretty sure he saw a car battery when the boy finally surfaced again. There was a book grasped in one hand, the paper in the other.

                He jumped to Scott's side, nearly in his lap, and flung the book open. It was some kind of year book from around six years ago. Stiles flipped through the pages quickly before settling on the sophomore class spread of '05. He quickly scanned the page before pointing animatedly at a photo in the center of the first page.

                Derek Hale, middle row. He seemed happy, or at least smug. There was some petulant glint in his eye that made Scott smile. He looked young, carefree.

                "I know what he looks like, Stiles," he said, looking up at his friend, who was tapping his leg nervously and waiting for some kind of response. When Scott spoke he smirked and flipped through about twelve pages before settling on a photo of the sports groups. He pointed at a tan kid in baggy basketball shorts standing in the back of the group. He had the same snarky smile. Scott raised an eyebrow in question before Stiles bit his lip and flipped a few pages. He pointed out the same kid in both the Chess club and Debate club.

                "Okay, so you're stalking him or something? What are you trying to show me here?" Scott asked, unimpressed.

                "I'm trying to show you that he's a freaking dork and you shouldn't get so damn excited about being his beta. He's just as human as you and me. Or- well, maybe not…but he's still not perfect so don't start building up all these crazy fantasies or expectations about what it's going to be like. For all you know he could have gotten really mean or something. What if he's fat now? What if-"

                "What are you _talking_ about?" Scott demanded, staring at his friend in confusion. He was restless, drumming his finger on his knee, eyes dancing around. "How much Adderall have you had today?"

                "That's irrelevant," Stiles quickly stated. Scott wasn't convinced.

                "Are you okay?" he asked after a moment, squinting at his friend like something spontaneous might happen. Nothing did. Stiles just blinked a few times before his mouth twitched and he darted off the bed to his computer. He grabbed it, righting the chair and sitting, turning until the back of the laptop was facing Scott. He started it back up, exiting out of all the tabs he was on before the interruption, pulling up a quick search instead.

                "Derek Mason Hale. Second child, first son of Talia and Inias Hale. He's twenty-three and works as some kind of freelance engineer or something. Uh..," he squinted and switched tabs before continuing, "No mate, or significant other- though apparently there are a few girls who claim they are his mate? What the-.." He grimaced and quickly closed those blogs. Wow. "Well, he's obviously as famous as the werewolves get, you know. So, uh," he looked up at Scott, trying to make the kid understand what he was trying to do. Educate the poor bastard about the reality of his situation. Talk some sense into him. "There is always time to find a new Alpha, okay? Don't feel like you have to say yes just because he's kind of cool or anything. He's normal, alright? Pick someone that will help you and take care of you. Once you go furry you don't go back."

                "I don't think that's the saying…" Scott commented, standing with a sigh. Sometimes Stiles got a little overprotective on him. How motherly.

                "You know what I mean! Just listen, man, don't rush into anything. Take it slow, let him romance you. Don't put out on the first date, yadayada," he twisted his hand around in the air before sniffing self-consciously.

                "Why are you suddenly so interested anyways? Before now you barely even talked to me about it," he accused, jaw setting in mild irritation.

                "You talked plenty about it. I'm just trying to watch out for you, man. I don't want you to regret this, is all. You can't exactly go back if you change your mind," he muttered, dropping his gaze to fiddle with the space key on his keyboard. Scott took a half step closer.

                "What the hell are you talking about? I've been thinking about this for years, dude. _Years!_ This is a freaking dream, okay? I seriously would give up an arm for this. Don't ask me why, okay? It just...It's something that feels right for me. Something I have to do. You wouldn't understand, obviously," he bit out, trying to quell the bubbling anger rising in his gut. When Stiles just pursed his lips and pulled his brows together in a scowl, Scott tilted his head in slow realization. "Wait. Are you- Are you _jealous?_ "

                "What? No!" he snapped, looking up at Scott with an openly shocked expression. Scott narrowed his eyes.

                "Then why aren't you happy for me? Why are you ruining this? Do you not want me to be a werewolf? You have some secret vendetta that I need to know about?"

                "No. I just-" he swallowed and paused before opening and closing his mouth a few times. He shrugged after a moment of silence. Scott shook his head and snatched the letter from Stiles hands before leaving with a huff. He refused to acknowledge how childish it was that he slammed the bedroom door on his way out. And the front door.

                Stiles didn't move for a good five minutes, just letting the altercation sink in. He felt like an idiot.

                Shame and worry twisted in his chest. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, worrying the skin with his teeth before closing the laptop again and setting it on his desk carefully. He turned off the lights before climbing into his bed and pulling the blanket over his head. He would apologize to Scott tomorrow. It would be fine.

                So what if his freaking best friend of twelve years was practically abandoning him. It was selfish of him to try to talk him out of his dream. He had no right. He would just have to deal with the fact that Scott would have more important things to do then spend every weekend at la casa de Stilinski. He would be fine.

                The panic settling in his chest would pass.

                Maybe Boyd would be willing to hang out with him. Maybe he'd join the lacrosse team alone and become team captain, get a cute girlfriend and learn how to deal with his fucked up anxiety problems. He'd had years to work on it though. And look where that got him? Having anxiety attacks in the boy’s bathrooms when a teacher called on him in class. Fighting back the panic when Scott cancelled a get-together. Crying like some pathetic kid when he didn't get his way. He felt like his body and mind were betraying him. It made him feel out of control, stupid.

                He curled into a tight ball and sucked in a sharp breath to calm down, trying to slow his mind enough to relax, but he couldn't stop. He was always moving, thinking, worrying. His leg shook as he fell asleep.

                ___

                Stiles supported his friend. He really did. He was proud that Scott had gotten in the pack. Proud beyond words that the interviews had gone so well. That Derek Hale was as open and caring as he had heard. And he had been sure to do his research on local Alphas. Any that were open to taking betas. He needed to make sure that Scott was in good hands. If something happened he wasn't sure what he would do. But it wouldn't be good.

                He could remember the year, nearly the exact moment that Scott had realized that he wanted to be turned- that he wanted the solidarity, the love, and the support that came with being part of a pack. He could remember the little glint in the boy’s eyes when they walked out of the classroom, animatedly discussing the werewolf documentary they had just watched. And Stiles honestly could not blame Scott for wanting to be a part of that. It was understandable. Scott's dad had left when he was still young, barely old enough to remember, but he knew how much it bothered Scott. He could feel it like a palpable envy, a cloying indignant anger that filled the air whenever Stiles' and his father interacted in front of Scott. The boy spent the first two years of their friendship hating John.

                Still, even if Stiles knew why Scott was doing it, sympathized with him, he still didn't share the enthusiasm.

                Even though they had the little bump in their relationship- and really it was more than that at this point, more than anything Stiles thought he deserved- they were quick to recover from the overwhelmingly lack-luster way that Stiles had responded to Scott's news of his approval.

                Scott had forgiven Stiles easily enough. They'd both said sorry for being annoying jerks and had done some jerky, awkward hug. All was forgiven.

                The pit of dread was still stuck in Stiles' gut, though, working its way up. He absently hoped his lungs would stop working when it reached his chest. Maybe it'd be better.

                Those thoughts didn't stick around for long. They rarely did, acting more like fleeting echoes of some deep seated agony Stiles refused to acknowledge.

                A week, two interviews, a full physical check-up, and a full psychological screening after school started and Scott had his appointment with Derek to get bitten. It would happen next Saturday during the New Moon. That meant that the teenager had only one week to spend with his family before he would stay with his new Alpha for three months. While normal turning periods where at the end of school so students wouldn't miss as much, after some special arrangements on the boys' behalf, they had found him some online classes so he could keep up. As long as he turned in his assignments on time there would be no problem. Not like Stiles wouldn't be there practically every step of the way, whether to give him the answers or to help him study, he would be there.

                Scott was giddy; he was packed by Tuesday and couldn't stop talking about it. He was excited, not really caring how much school or lacrosse practice he missed. It didn't matter, he was getting his freaking dream come true. So aside from not getting to see his mom or best friend- more like brother- for three whole months, Scott really didn't care about the necessary separation. It was going to be torture, though. But it wasn't like he couldn't call and text them every day. He just couldn't leave his Alpha's side until he passed the clearing period.

                He hoped it wouldn't take him three entire months to control himself. He'd spent four years mentally- and physically, considering how much he worked out- preparing himself for this. If he wasn't some super amazing natural pro he was going to be seriously disappointed.

                The weekend after the first week of school was odd. His mother seemed happy but nervous, like she might change her mind and make him cancel the appointment at any moment. Scott was on his best behavior, trying to prove that he wasn't going to mess this up. That he really, really, _really_ wanted this. He wasn't above begging, and she knew that. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

                Stiles' was a completely other story all together. He was…distant the entire weekend. They still played video games, cursed loudly at the television when something went wrong, pigged out on pizzas and burgers and French fries, and slept splayed out on top of each other like a pair of puppies. But something was off. He would smile, laugh, and joke. But it didn't reach his eyes. And Scott might have been a doofus, or an emotionally-ignorant baby sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. He could tell when his best friend had something on his mind. But every time Scott tried to talk to him about it he would just dodge the subject and suggest they do something else. It was bothersome, but when school started back Monday Scott let his worry fade to the back of mind.

                By Friday he hadn't even thought about it again. He spent his last day as a human getting drunk on Stiles' roof. They shared a bottle of Jack that had cost way too much when bribed from a senior, and tried to pretend like the liquor didn't want to make them throw up. It was disgusting but it was important to Scott so Stiles dealt.

                It turned out Scott was a sappy drunk. Stiles would spit his out when the other wasn't looking, so he barely got buzzed. After he realized Scott was hammered he just told him to drink the rest and started videotaping. It was the first night since Scott turned sixteen that he felt deeply content.

Stiles made Scott go to sleep when he started trying to "dr'nk gay exp'r'ment" with Stiles. Gross wet lips on his cheek from his pseudo-brother was not something he ever wanted to experience again.

                Scott threw up for nearly an hour when he woke up, groaning loudly and dry sobbing when Stiles would intentionally slam a door or spontaneously yell something stupid. He wasn't heartless, though. He brought the soon-to-be-werewolf a glass of water and three aspirin. After Scott downed the water and the pills he slumped against the tub and whined dramatically, an arm flopping over his scratchy eyes to shield himself from the light.

                "Stiles, give me a bath," he demanded, clenching his eyes shut and trying to pray the pounding in his head away. It was starting to vibrate down into the rest of his body, making his stomach roll and his mouth go dry. He was pretty sure he was dying.

                Stiles snorted in reply, turning on the water anyways. He threw a clean towel and change of clothes on the sink counter and jerked Scott's shoes and socks off. The idiot had passed out as soon as he hit the bed the night before, not even bothering to take anything off beforehand.

                "I'm like a sexy wife taking care of her alcoholic husband," he commented. Scott grunted and swatted lazily at him. After Stiles tugged the other's shirt off he leaned back and coughed a few times to choke back his laughter. "I hope you know I'm not actually going to take your pants off and give you a bath. This is all you get for free."

                Scott grimaced and pushed him away.

                "Ew, get out," he commanded, peeling his eyes open enough to glare at his friend. Who was snickering as he left the room. He slammed the door and laughed loudly when he heard Scott whine.

___

                Being a werewolf was in theory great. Super strength. Inhuman speed. Amazing agility. Amped senses. Who wouldn't hop on that train the second they heard about it? Sane people for one. At least, that's what Stiles' told himself when he thought himself in circles over the topic. To be or not to be? That was the question, apparently. Stiles' always chose humanity. Boring, fragile, pathetic humanity and everything it offered.

                Humanity was something special to Stiles. A masochistic kind of habit, but one Stiles couldn't shake. It was all he'd ever known after all- the delicate nature, the unstable control, the self-righteous need for power that came along with the species. Stiles was enraptured by the meager spark of strength it would take to hurt him, kill him; it was a sick comfort to know that he could die so easily, that he still had that kind of fucked up control over his life. He needed some kind of control, any kind.

                Maybe something was wrong with him...

                He wasn't strong and caring like Scott. He wasn't selfless and easy-going like Isaac. He wasn't anything like any of the werewolves he knew. If he had to describe himself in one word it would probably be hopeless. Or pathetic. Or any other self-deprecating term he could think of.

                But that just made him feel stupid, so he tried to avoid those thoughts. Pretend they never happened. Pretend he wasn't as fucked up as he would like to believe.

                Like maybe if he ignored it all long enough it would just sort of go away. Which, if he thought about, made no sense because it was feelings and thoughts and trauma that was making him this way. He couldn't just make that disappear unless he really wanted to hurt himself. But he tried to stay hopeful. Or at least stubbornly avoidant of his own thoughts. Not really many places to go to escape those, though. Besides, they found ways of making themselves known without Stiles' having to constantly gnaw on them like he was prone to. He would just rather let them fester and bleed and die and make him sick than deal with them like someone normal. He wasn't exactly normal though. He'd admit that. Not proudly, and not aloud, and never to himself. But he knew it. He hadn't been since he saw his fucking mom die. And just the thought of having to go to a hospital still made him nearly have a panic attack.

                He'd been skipping doctor appointments for years. His dad still hadn't noticed, thank God. He didn't want to worry the poor guy. He had enough on his plate. Enough trying to bring home money and put up with his overly-energetic son. He didn't need paying for therapy bills added to the list because Stiles had heard him murmuring on the phone and noticed the way he was trying to discreetly take more hours at the station. He certainly didn't need turning application bills or a turning permit bill or a doctor bill or a funeral cost or even a call from the school. Nothing. No. He deserved some peace. And Stiles was determined to give him that.

                So he didn't complain once. He kept his mouth shut. Even when Scott was turned Saturday and still hadn't texted or called by that Thursday. He was worried, but he didn't want to distract his friend. So he stayed silent. He didn't even try to start trouble at school. He accepted the congratulations from people at school on Scott's behalf, but he didn't start any conversation. He would just go to class and try to ignore the empty desk beside him and empty feeling settling in his chest. It was stupid and he was being dramatic and he didn't need to worry anyone.

                He slept through most of the weekend, not bothering to look at his phone until Sunday. He had a few missed calls and texts.

___

                Stiles was ten whenever he realized that his mother wasn't exactly okay. He could still recall the confused, muffled sense of panic and confusion that had stained the back of his throat when he found out. If he was older, he would have realized sooner. It was his ignorance that prolonged his truth of reality. Reality that everyone dies.

                He remembered the way he sat, afraid and alone, at the kitchen table, possessed with a fear only a child knew- the fear that overcame when someone saw their parents, the ones they thought were invincible helplessly fighting something bigger than themselves.

He remembered seeing his mother standing, not a few seconds early joyously singing and dancing around the kitchen as she spoke with Stiles. And then suddenly she had frozen, a shudder passing through her frame before she gasped and swallowed hard. He had looked up quickly, watching with wide eyes as the plate she had been holding slipped out of his grasp and hit the floor. She didn't react, just stood and stared at nothing.

He didn't move.

He cried, though. Fat, ugly tears rolled down his cheeks because he didn't know what to do. He couldn't make himself move.

Then his mother had suddenly fallen, collapsed onto the floor and shuddered again before stilling. The suddenness of the action sending Stiles into action. He was on the phone with his dad, choking whispered little words into the receiver before he really processed what was happening.

                The ambulance arrived in a flash. They let themselves inside, the paramedics checking Claudia's pulse and breathing. She stirred at the contact, slowly coming back to herself. They made her stay still while they moved her to a gurney and then into the back of the ambulance. Stiles rode with her and they met their dad at the ER.

                A month later and they had a name to the demon that was overtaking the Stilinski household. Frontotemporal Dementia.

                His memories were blurry after that, only flashes and blocks of events that burned themselves into his mind, everything else he had managed to push down and lock away.

                He remembered the first time his mother forgot where she was. Or when she forgot how to speak for a few hours right before his eleventh birthday. He remembered with halting clarity the fear and anger in her eyes when she could no longer walk. He remembered her asking who he was once when he came to visit after school.

He watched her wither, trying so desperately to hold on. She tried so hard.

                Stiles held his mother’s hand while she died. She hadn't spoken in months before that and Stiles didn't either for several after the funeral.

                He liked to think that he got better, that he recovered somewhere along the way. But honestly, he hadn't. He hadn't in the least. He'd pushed the memories- the gashes across his soul- down until he only saw them in nightmares. He refused to mourn her, refused to get upset, refused to _feel._ It made him reckless, it made him stupid. He became brash and annoying, vomiting up words because he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop his racing mind. He couldn't even fucking breath half the time.

                It became a habit to talk, to fill the silence, because at least that was better than letting himself paw at the repressed pain bottled inside himself. He became twitchy and restless. A doctor told his dad he had problems, probably ADHD. He knew that was shit. It was anxiety. Crippling anxiety. He was put on Adderall anyways. It made things worse for him in the long run. But he took them because they made him calm, at least most of the time. They helped him forget, helped him sleep without waking up sobbing or screaming.

                Stiles was about fourteen when he realized with a sudden shock that he didn't have ADHD. It was like a little slot of himself finally fell into place. He spent the rest of the day staring numbly at his television, trying to let it sink in that he was fucking _depressed_ , crazy even. Not hyper. It was nerves, it was panic, anxiety, fear that gripped him. It wasn't some inability to concentrate. He just...wasn't sure how to handle it. He felt betrayed somehow.

                He didn't tell anyone, continued his Adderall. He didn't fake the tremor in his hands after he'd popped two pills in the morning. He ignored the way his heart would pound for hours, days in a row, like it was trying to climb out of his chest. Pretending was better than accepting he was fucked up. It was easier.

___

                If ever asked, Scott would tell them that he had absolutely not teared up, or screamed when Derek bit him. It didn't even hurt. It didn't. He was just startled, really. Seriously. The shark sting of teeth on his wrist made him jump and he yelped. But the wolf just snorted around his arm before pulling away and wiping the blood off his mouth with a rag. His eyes flashed red.

                Isaac tentatively handed the boy a bandage. He put it on the wound to slow the bleeding until he began to change and it healed. Which, according to Derek could take up to a day or two. Scott really hoped it wouldn't. The sooner he could master this wolfy-biz, the sooner he could get back to sending Stiles disgustingly stupid threats over Xbox live. Or whipping his ass at CoD.

                "God, you taste bad," Derek muttered, swishing a mouthful of the water from his Dasani before walking into the kitchen to spit into the sink. Scott lowered his arm and had the decency to look a little apologetic. The Alpha re-entered the lounge area of his loft and motioned to the couch. He looked a little stiff. Scott wondered if he still found it odd to turn teenagers he barely knew.

                They spent the rest of the night watching crap TV and chatting easily. The Alpha, despite his appearance, was surprisingly kind. He didn't offer his opinion much, which Scott didn't mind. Isaac was probably the quietest of them, though when he did speak it was usually verging on rude. Erica and Scott new each other a bit from sharing a class the year before.

                Derek showed him to his temporary room at around eleven. Scott fell asleep quickly and didn't stir until he was jerked violently out of the bed by his ankle. He hit the concrete floor hard, gasping and staring wide-eyed at a grinning Erica.

                "Training, wolf-man!" she flashed her canines before throwing sweatpants on him and turning to bounce out of the room. Scott sat in a confused self-reflection for a solid ten seconds before lifting the bandage on his wrist to see smooth skin. He smiled stupidly and hurriedly changed, practically falling out of his room to find his new pack-mates.

                By the next Saturday Scott could manage a semi shift and back to human form effortlessly. He spent nearly any free time he had staring in the mirror, poking at his canines and watching his eyes flash. He would catch himself trying to slowly press his claws in and out, trying to see how slowly he could go, and watching his nails thickened and sharpen and shift into claws that could probably slice through metal if he tried.

                One of the best parts was the literal bone-deep pulsing connection that snaked through the pack, tying them together at a primal level. It felt so freaking perfect, so right. Scott could barely believe he had been missing this his whole life. It felt so natural, so amazing. Derek told him he acted more like a born than a bitten. Scott took the observation as a compliment and nearly preened at his Alpha's words.

                The only downside was the fact that after a solid month he still couldn't leave. Isaac would come and go freely, Erica only had to stay on full moons. That didn't stop them from spending basically any free time at Derek's. He didn't complain. Scott was getting restless, though. He missed his mom, his house, Stiles. And texts and phone calls only did so much. Stiles didn't even reply until Sunday afternoon. Which- what the hell was with that anyways? Was he miffed about something? Scott asked him after dinner and school work. He got an apology and a denial. Rolling his eyes, Scott just sent a little summary of the day before tucking his phone under his pillow and drifting asleep.

                The training was brutal. Like ten times worse than anything Coach Finstock had put him through. He persisted, though. It helped that the burn in his lungs and the ache in his muscles only lasted a few minutes before he it was replaced with an odd sense of vitality. He'd never felt more alive, more capable. It was amazing.

                By Scott's second full moon he could control himself enough to not try to kill or maul anyone and everything he saw. Derek was impressed and said by the next full moon he would be clear to go. It still took him another solid week of hardwork to manage and control his half shift. It made him feel like he was teetering. His wolf battled him, begging, whining, and growling for control. But just like his Alpha had said, by his third full moon he could sit relaxed and still on the couch, human form and all. Derek made him switch from semi to half to human several times before congratulating him and letting him pick dinner for everyone. Erica pretended not to care, but Scott saw the little proud smirk, and he felt the burning joy from her.

___

                For about five minutes after Scott arrived, exactly on time, for the bite Derek regretted his decision. He had a stupidly fat suitcase in one hand a shit-eating grin on his face. He was such a dork it made Derek want to laugh. But then Erica was jabbing at him and he couldn't help the little swell of pride at his budding pack.

                He turned Scott an hour after he showed up, waiting for the teenager’s scent to change from fear to nervousness. When his teeth sank in and the taste of Scott's skin and blood filled his tongue he had to force himself to stay passive. Something in the smell, in the taste made him want to whine, made him uneasy. He took a discreet sniff as he was pulling away, letting the aroma fill his lungs faintly. It was cinnamon and dirt and salt and _perfect._ But it wasn't Scott. It was something faded, a sour note clinging disgustingly to the amazing smell. He muttered a lie to cover any obvious reaction he may have had. Erica shot him a look but didn’t call his lie. He swished a mouthful of water to rid his mouth of the taste. It stuck to the back of his throat, tempting and insistent.

                When they sat in the lounge to relax he took a few more discreet whiffs of his new beta, trying to decipher the smell. Erica leered at him and he pretended not to notice her wiggling her eyebrows questioningly at his actions. This was serious and he was kind of fucking on edge with the scent sticking to him so profoundly. It was almost beckoning, alluring, addicting. But the bitter, soured, stale taste it left on his tongue made his stomach twist in discomfort. Under the disgusting layer of sickness it was perfect, though. He swallowed several times to try to rid himself of the remaining splash of it.

                All he could think was the lessons on mates and sickness he'd heard dozens of times from his mother. It scared him, honestly. He wanted to pretend he never smelled it. Which sounded like a fantastic plan. Because obviously the person in question wasn't around, and thankfully not Scott, and he would most likely never even meet them so it was a moot point anyways.

                A few years ago Derek would have been jumping at the opportunity to find his mate. But now, after _Kate,_ he was just afraid. Because last time he'd gotten lucky. He'd realized before the bitch had followed through on her plan. He'd stopped the tragedy, he'd saved himself and his family. But he wasn't willing to chance that again. He wasn't putting his family on the line again, even if he was no longer part of that pack officially. He couldn't handle the betrayal, the heartbreak again.

                So he simply ignored the tantalizing scent, pouring himself into training his new beta instead of chancing after some stupid, dangerous idea.

___

                Three fucking months. Seriously? Three months after the first week of school. Stiles was disappointed in his friend. He'd assumed that Scott would be some weird guru of self-control or something and would show up at school after a week with a cheesy smile and dozens of embarrassing stories about Derek Hale. That didn't happen, obviously. And Stiles wasn't sure if he was more angry or lonely. He supposed it was pretty equal. Not that anyone asked, though. He didn't really talk to people at school. More in their general direction before they would inevitably walk away.

                It was kind of a rude awakening to the boy when he realized that he literally had no other friends but Scott. He quickly tried to amend that. But after a failed attempt at chatting up a group of freshman and a steely glare from Boyd, he relented to eating his lunches alone. And walking to class alone. And going to lacrosse practice alone.

The only freaking interaction he got besides his dad or through electronics was from Isaac Lahey in fourth period Economics with Coach Finstock. They both sat near the back, and they had gotten into the habit of passing dumb notes during class. Apparently Isaac was in Derek's pack with Scott. They swapped shameful tales about the boy and Stiles filed most of it away for blackmail material. He even got a few stories about Derek. Which were hilarious. Because knowing that the badass new Hale Alpha was a stoic, but enthusiastic cuddler was amazing.

                Things weren't all cherry pies and sunshine, though. Stiles tried, yeah. But old habits were surfacing with all the reflection time. With no one to talk to, to keep his mind occupied, he started to let his thoughts drift to their own accord.

                Sleeping became a chore. He would toss and turn and groan because his head would start aching from the tension snagging in his back and shoulders. He started sleeping in Econ and in his free period, racking up a record three detention in under a week. Yay.

                Lacrosse stopped being something to look forward to. It was tiresome and painful and Coach pretty much openly used him as a tackling pawn, sending him sprinting across the field so the other, bigger guys could slam him into the hard ground. Which was kind of against the rules, but Coach didn't say anything, just moved him to benchwarmer when he started getting lightheaded from the impacts. Bruises littered his torso; he considered quitting. But then he'd swallow hard and press a finger against the blossoming purple and shudder with the dull pain.

                Changing in front of a bunch of guys wasn't too much fun either. He'd never had a problem before, but with the bruises and his wiry frame he was developing a nasty little self-conscious habit of slipping glances at the other kids instead of actually changing like he was supposed to. He ended up being the last one out of the locker room nearly every day, trying not to compare himself to them.

                He started working out like a freaking lunatic, hoping to pack on something- anything. He was literally the smallest guy on the fucking team. Compared to Jackson, the captain, he looked like a fucking thirteen year old, even with his solid two inches on the guy. It was mortifying. So he drove himself to Goodwill after school one day and bought a set of fifty pound weights. He set up a strict dietary plan when he got home, along with an exercise regimen. He would come home from practice, pop an Adderall, and work out until he was shaking before skipping dinner, doing his homework, and taking some sleeping pills to knock himself out.

                After about a month of his diet and workout he felt a little lighter, better. His confidence rose a bit and he was okay with changing in the locker room again. He still didn't compare to the other guys but he was getting there. He would get there.

                It was a month before Scott was supposed to come back when he decided he was going to do something bold. Stupid, really, if he thought about it. But he didn't, because it was a reckless spur-of the moment decision and he wasn't supposed to analyze it or over think it. So he took a deep breath as soon as he left first period and marched right up to Lydia freaking Martin, all five foot three inches of strawberry blonde hair and red lipstick.

                "Alright, I know that you pretend that you don't notice me, but I know you and wow that's kind of creepy but uh, yeah, I know you and I know you are a fucking genius. Like way smarter than me and I'm literally in the top 1% of this school so that's saying something. But I'm basically here to stop embarrassingly spilling stupid, useless observations and just say as a last ditch effort, outright, that I like you. Have for a while...And I would appreciate an equally outright answer, like a 'cool but no thanks' would be fine. An 'omg you are adorable we should totally date' would be awesome, too, though," he sucked in a breath to shut himself up, awkwardly curling his toes and licking his lips. Lydia raised an eyebrow at his monologue before flashing her friend a smile and turning to face him. He braced himself for the worst.

                “‘Cool, but no thanks,’ “she copied in a mocking tone before slipping her arm through the girl's beside her and pulling them both away. He faltered a moment, biting his lip and grimacing at his stupid fucking actions before turning and heading to his next class. He really needed to stop doing stupid shit to embarrass himself.

                He was pulling his gear out of his locker before practice later that day when a cold, calloused hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. Before he could duck out of the way Jackson grabbed a fistful of his shirt and slammed him roughly against the locker. The chatter and movement in the locker room stilled, everyone moved to watch the event unfold.

                The blond pressed into Stiles face, warm breath fanning over the other's skin as he spoke.

                "Why the hell are you fucking stalking my girlfriend," he bit out, narrowing his eyes into a glare that made Stiles' fingertips sting in building fear, anticipation.

                "I- I'm not...I'm not stalking her, I just...I-" he stammered, trying to get his mouth to work. Just explain it, calmly and Jackson would understand. Hopefully. His fat mouth choice that time as the perfect opportunity to stage a coup and revolt against him.

                "Then why the hell where you acting all fucking creepy and asking her out and telling her you 'know her.' You're a fucking creep." He jerked Stiles' forward before slamming him back into the metal. One of the hinges dug into his spine, but he didn't dare move. Jackson's free hand was coiled into a tight fist at his side, like he was barely keeping himself from slamming it into the boy’s face. Which he probably actually was.

                "And don't try to pretend like we all don't fucking know you're a little skeeve, you fucking freak. I've caught you fucking _staring_ at like every guy in here while they change. How fucked up are you?" he snapped, curling his lip in disgust. Stiles' heart jumped in his chest and he sucking in a panicked breath. Oh shit. Oh shit.

                He looked up at the gathered crowd. They looked away when he tried to catch their eye, some looking irritated, some disgusted, some were flushed with shame. Stiles felt his stomach curl and flutter in something sinister.

                "Nothing to say now? You were practically reciting a novel to Lydia, earlier, from what I heard." He slammed Stiles against the harsh metal again. The boy winced and swallowed thickly.

                "I- I wasn't-," he tried, but his mouth ran dry and his tongue felt fat. The sound of a door creaking open made the crowd quickly disperse. Jackson jerked the other boy into his face, spitting out, "If you come near her or this fucking team again I'll knock your teeth out," before throwing him to the ground and stalking off.

                The Coach rounded the lockers, and seeing Stiles on the floor, quirked a brow in question.

                "Taking a rest, Bilski?" he asked, snorting in amusement before calling the team out onto the field. Stiles waited until they left, staring at the cracks in the floor as he fought his rising panic. Dread bubbled into his throat and he felt like throwing up. But he clenched his jaw and took deep breaths until his heart stopped beating like a wild animal before he stood on jello-legs and shoved his gear back into his locker.

                He didn't bother showing back up for practice.

                He didn't sleep that night and had a panic attack in the shower as he got ready for school the following morning. Just the thought of seeing everyone, of knowing that they hated him, it was almost too much. He felt so humiliated, so fucking stupid.

                No one talked to him. Even Isaac shot him a nervous look before trying to nonchalantly ignore his presence during Economics. Coach didn't call him out on quitting, probably too fucking overzealous to have the little pervert off his team.

                He still worked out, he stuck to his diet, maybe even pushed it a little. His dad wasn't home enough to notice. He'd get home, find his salad waiting in the fridge, and assume that Stiles' had already eaten. The boy started doing it on purpose. The dull, hollow ache was nice, comforting in a way. It made him feel like he was doing something right. It was a buoy when he felt like he was drowning in himself. And he was. Because he was pathetic and only had one friend, and that friend was Scott. Now everyone hated him and thought he was a pervert and he couldn't even fucking tell Scott because he didn't want to ruin his time.

                Stiles felt lost. He had too much time on his hands and no idea what to pour himself into, because just sitting around feeling sorry for himself was stupid and he refused to be one of those people. So he started going on runs after he worked out, he started reading and playing through all the games he hadn't had time for. By the time Scott finally got back to normal society he had beaten Halo twice and finished the entire series of both Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings.

                Scott came over on a Saturday, bursting into his room with a cheeky smile and a bag of Arby's in his hand. He tossed the sack of grease at Stiles before throwing himself onto the boy’s bed and letting out a satisfied whine.

                "You look different, man," he noted, poking at the slightly more defined muscles of Stiles’ arms. He looked the boy over once, twice. Stiles' rolled his eyes and opened the bag of food, moaning when he looked inside and saw a huge fucking order of curly fries.

                "Holy shiiiit, you are number one," he purred, already stuffing a handful into his mouth. He grinned stupidly and chewed with loud puffs of happy noises coming out of his nose. Scott wiggled his eyebrows at his friend.

                "You're so easy," he pointed out, shaking his head at the other boy’s dramatic reaction to salty, greasy potatoes.

                "Nah, I j'st literally f'cking am in love w'th these," he moaned past a mouthful of fries that were poking out from his lips. Scott faked a grimace.

                "Gross, if I knew you were going to start practically humping the things I wouldn't have brought them," he joked, reaching to take one just to get a rise out of Stiles. He got a slap to the wrist and a puny growl of 'mine.'

                They spent the afternoon talking about how cool it is to be a werewolf, with Scott answering all kinds of ridiculous questions. By seven they were relaxed again, melting back together like the last three months had never happened. Stiles felt the panic, the fear, the dread lessen.

                "Apparently Isaac Lahey is in your pack? I have Econ with him," Stiles announced as he crumped the empty Arby's bag into a ball and tossed it into his trashcan. Scott hummed, scrolling lazily through games on Stiles' Xbox.

                "Yeah, he said something about meeting you. But he doesn't talk much so he pretty much just said he knew who you were. Are you guys hanging out now or something?" Scott asked, settling on Minecraft since it was easy, reaching to grab the other controller off Stiles' floor and handing it to him.

                Stiles though of how Isaac had practically oozed discomfort the last time he had tried to initiate a conversation. It kind of stung.

                "Nah, he just pair up sometimes in class. Which by the way, asshole, I was alone for three months. You are literally my only goddamn friend and I'm blaming you for it since obviously no one wants to talk to me in fear of being associated with you," he snarked, absentmindedly moving his character around on the screen.

                "Pft, you have friends," he said, but didn't offer any examples. Stiles pretended not to notice.

The night passed calmly. They chatted easily, gossiping mostly. They played video games until they both got bored and switched it to some movie they'd seen a thousand times. Scott insisted on ordering a pizza and after some coercion, Stiles put up half the cost. He ate half of it and spent the rest of the night fighting the nausea of a full stomach. He hadn’t eaten that much, or that unhealthy in literally weeks. It hurt, but he forced back the discomfort so Scott wouldn’t start getting suspicious or anything.

                They slept on Stiles’ bed, curled up together like nothing had changed. Stiles told himself nothing had, but he still felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was standing on an edge, ready to fall. He hoped Scott could make it go away, hoped he could push it away and fight it like he had before. Some nagging voice in the back of his mind promised that it wouldn’t work this time and that no one could save him. It urged him to just let go, give up. He bit back the whimpers, the tears when it felt like something was tearing into his chest and spreading him open, leaving him raw and ragged. Fear gripped him, and he realized with a shudder that he was losing his fucking mind. He fell asleep curled into Scott’s chest, clinging desperately to his friend, begging silently for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any typos please let me know, thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

As much as Derek hated to admit it, the stupid scent that Scott was dragging around like some kind of cloak was entirely too addicting and entirely too bitter. He would show up at the loft after school, after practice, after visiting friends- and the smell would fucking _pour_ off of him. It was practically choking the Alpha every time he walked into the room. The aroma of sweet cinnamon and dirt- perfect beyond the wisps of acid and metal that stubbornly stuck to it. This disgusting little image of the person was trying to dig its way into Derek's mind. Dark hair and long fingers and a wide smiles. He tried desperately to ignore both the smell and his own little mental image of its owner. None of that mattered to him. He was not getting involved in whatever the hell that smell was about. Because he had a pack to protect now, and taking care of some needy kid was not on his to do list. Not to mention the fact that he did not exactly hold the world’s best track record for successful relationships.

                That did not mean he was a heartless guy, though. Just because he, personally, was not going to fix the frankly assaulting nature of the smell, does not mean that one of his betas couldn't. Scott being the prime man for the job, seeing as he was like a magnet for the delicious stink.

                It still took Derek a few weeks to work up the nerve to talk to Scott about it. Because despite their nearly four months of bonding, numerous 'puppy-piles,' shared secrets, and pack training, did not mean that Derek was just up and ready to talk to anyone and everyone he trusted even a little about all the insecurities or worries that ran through his mind. And the nagging thought of the smell (more like insistently prodding thought) was a thing that Derek was trying to casually play down to a manageable level. He really freaking hated the way his instincts started screaming at him with every whiff of the equal parts toe-curling and gut-wrenching smell. It was like having an actual wolf scratching at the inside of his skull, growling and whining to fix it fix it fix it! Not that he could. Or would.

                Not his problem.

                "Scott." Derek's tone demanded attention, despite his casual attempt at appearing relaxed by leaning against the kitchen counter, warm cup of tea steeping in his hands. The beta turned from his spot at the table, all wide-eyed and curious. He raised an eyebrow in question, mumbling a, "Hmm?" trying to swallow his mouthful of pizza quickly.

                He was just popping by for a bite before work and was going to be late if he didn't hurry. Maybe the conversation could wait until later. No, actually this would be the perfect time. He wouldn't have any opening to box Derek in and asking stupid questions and string the chat into some kind of...discussion. Those always ended awkwardly.

                "Are any of your friends depressed or going through something traumatic?" Derek asked, straight to the point.

                Scott's eyebrows knit together, frowning around the large chunk of crust he had shoved into his mouth. He narrowed his eyes at his Alpha, gathering his thoughts as he chewed slowly and swallowed.

                "No, all of my friends are perfectly okay. Besides, the only person I really hang out with is Stiles, and he's about the most hyper guy I know," he noted nonchalantly, licking his finger before rubbing it around his plate to get the crumps off it. He licked his fingers clean, Derek shot him a disgusted look. Just because he was a werewolf now did not mean he could act like a dog. "Why?"

                "There is this smell that's been trailing you. It's irritating," he put mildly, sipping at his tea just for something to do. Irritating was an extreme understatement, in his book. Just standing across the room from Scott was driving Derek up the wall. His claws were tapping delicately against the porcelain of the glass before he forced himself to focus and retract them.

                Scott lifted his arm and pressed his nose against his bicep, taking a deep whiff before tilting his head and doing the same to his underarm. Derek stared at him for a long second, regretting turning the kid for all of two seconds. He was kind of moronic sometimes.

                " _That's_ what that smell is?" he asked, seeming to find whatever he was looking for as he looked up at Derek with wide eyes. "I thought it was just sort of a thing with werewolves. Smells mean stuff?"

                Derek rolled his eyes in exasperation. This was going amazingly well.

                "Smells that come from humans or animals can have emotional traces of fear or sorrow or happiness. If you know what to look for you can basically read them like a book," he explained. Scott shot him a dubious look before tensing and appearing weary.

                "Can you read me, too?" Scott asked, moving in his seat like he was about to dart out of the room. Derek nodded and watched as Scott huffed and stood.

                "Great," he muttered, suddenly realizing that his whole fucking life was out of his control- whether by his mom or his Alpha. He had no freaking secrets.

                Derek simply watched him throw his plate away before leaving the apartment. He didn't move for a moment, simply letting the _smell_ wash over him in the wake of Scott. It was comforting and terrifying. He hated how addicted he was to it.

___

School got a little easier for Stiles with Scott back. He laughed at the rumors floating around about Stiles, not believing any of them. Even if the more truthful ones had him questioning his friend a bit, he thankfully never brought them up with him. Stiles wasn't really sure he could take that. Especially if Scott asked if he was seriously checking out guys in the locker room. He wasn't. It wasn't like that.

                That didn't really matter anymore, though, since Stiles quit the team. He lied to his dad and Scott, saying he was just bored with the sport. No, he really did want to play, it was Lacrosse after all! He just couldn't do it with the whole team treating him like some pervert. He got enough rough shoulder bumps in the hallways, thank you, he did not need that in the locker room, too. Plus, he would not hold it above Jackson to take his clothes or something so he had to ask around for some spares or some shit. That was not a situation Stiles ever wanted to find himself in. Not to mention the stark lack of adult supervision in the locker room. He could just deal with the bruises from being tripped or pushed into stuff. They weren’t as bad as when he played lacrosse.

                Things were okay, as long as he didn't think too hard. The kids stopped paying attention to him after a while, as long as he kept his mouth shut. It was getting easier and easier to do. It was something about the hollow feeling in his chest, or the way his stomach felt like it was caving in, or the way his hands were almost always shaking, that made him not really want to speak up in class anymore.

                Not only had Scott gotten this weird little over-protective habit while away, but he had really bulked up. He was kind of beefy before, but being a werewolf must make working out super easy because Scott had put on a good twenty pounds of pure muscle, much to Stiles bitter envy.

                Actually, he refused to admit that he was jealous over his best friend. Not cool. He was happy for Scott. The guy was so damn happy.

                So what if he was barely ever over anymore, barely ever around between werewolf practice and his personal shit.

                And then there was that new girl, Allison Argent, who just so happened to be like totally BFFs with Lydia fucking Martin. Scott had drooled after her the second she strode into school, all dark hair and pretty eyes. Damn, he was seriously whipped for a virgin.

                So yeah, that sucked- the whole being ditched for a girl and her best friend, AKA the bane of his existence. Or at least one of them. Jackson was probably number one on that list, Lydia in the top three.

                It still stung to get ditched, though. But, really, not a surprise. Can't say he blames the werewolf. If Stiles could he would ditch himself, too.

                But he can't. He's kind of stuck with himself, as much as he hates it. Hates it. Ugh, he could barely even look in the freaking mirror without going all Dr. Phil on his own ass and trying to make himself pick out five things he liked. It was a stupid game that he was surprisingly bad at. He got into the habit of just avoiding the mirror all together, throwing on whatever smelled okay before going on a run before school, after school, before dinner, after, during, instead of. Really, he had become quiet the little exercise-aholic while Scott was gone, and didn't really feel like kicking the time-killer even with him back. He had somewhere to put all his pent up energy, all his worry and pain and stupid stuff so he could pretend it wasn't real or didn't matter. And then, maybe the best part, was the cool little coils of muscle he was getting. Nice, he almost looked not like a gangly-baby-giraffe. Almost. He was still lean, maybe too lean. But his appetite was obviously somewhere far, far away.

                He hadn't even had curly fries since Scott brought them to him that day he got back from his three-month werewolf vacation. Which was some kind of personal record if he really wanted to think about it. He didn't, though. Really did not. In fact, he was going to desperate lengths to avoid all forms of thought that had to do with himself.

                ___

                Six months after turning his first beta and Derek's pack was settled. While it had only been around five months since he turned Scott, they had grown close in that time. The teens would often come by every afternoon to do their homework in what Scott had insisted was the 'den.' Derek refused to call it that, even in his head.

                Movie Saturday became a thing that Derek secretly loved. Not that he would ever admit how fond he was of the way they would all argue over a movie and then pile up on the couch to watch it, bowl of chips or popcorn nestled between them. Most of the crumps would end up either on him, or on the couch but he still looked forward to it every week.

                Oddly enough, none of the betas ever asked to bring friends by, or for Derek to join them out. He didn't even meet Erica's parents until around four months after he'd turned her. They were okay. So was Scott's mom, even though they had only met once in line at K-Mart. Derek had no idea about Isaac parents, though if he remembered correctly the forms had mentioned something of him living with his grandmother.

                Derek expected to come home to a living room full of teenagers every time one of the beta's texted that they were going to hang out at his place. He never did. And they never asked to have anyone over.

                Which Derek was kind of happy about. Humans tended to not like him, especially teenagers. He was surprised his pack even liked him. Which, okay, was kind of dramatic, but still. He knew he was ornery and 'pinched' as Laura had said once.

                He was proud of his pack, though, no matter how much extra cleaning they made him do in his own damn apartment. They did make him feel like a parent sometimes. Like when Scott would come inside growling and griping about something that happened at school and Derek would have to sit him down and talk to him about it. Or how Erica would _make_ the Alpha go and buy her tampon just because she thought the face he made was funny. Or even how Isaac would have him sign his fucking school forms because his grandma's handwriting was shit, apparently.

                Ugh, his life.

                His life was almost perfect.

                For the first time in his life he was beginning to feel like what he was doing was right. Being an Alpha was right for him, it fit him. During his periodic visits to his mother, he would just sit all proud and cocky while she preened over how naturally he was taking to the role. He not-so-secretly loved the attention. It was nice, getting to be told he was doing well even if he already knew it. He could see it in Erica's eyes everyday she went without having a seizure, feel it in Isaac's fists when they were playing and he was letting his tension leak out, smell in Scott's scent-

                Or maybe not that. Since the fucking _Smell_ still coated the boy like some nasty skin. He still didn't seem to notice or acknowledge it since their terse conversation in the kitchen. Or maybe he didn't care. But Derek was pretty sure he was slowly being driven insane.

                Which was kind of what was happening- him just sitting in his living room, staring at his television and trying not to breath through his nose- when he got a phone call. And he never got phone calls. The pack always texted him. So it's not any of them, which instantly puts him on edge. He grabs it off the coffee table, trying to pretend he didn't just notice that the television had been off the whole time. God he was such a freak.

                "Hello?" he asked, cautious and low. There was rustling over the receiver, he pulled away to check the number since he forgot to do that. Laura? "Is everything okay?"

                "Not really. Someone was on the preserve. Some humans. Hunters. We were on a run with the pups and mom suddenly started growling and sent everyone back to the house. She came back like half an hour later with an arrow in her side and a fistful of wolfsbane bullets. She was pissed, said something about some them lurking around the edge of the preserve but when she got close enough they shot her and ran," Laura said quickly, the rustling noise fading in and out. Derek guessed she was probably pacing around the house, checking on their little cousins that are visiting and their little siblings. He felt a hot rage rising into his throat.

Someone was there, trying to hurt his family again? There were fucking kids there! Little five year olds that just learned how to shift!

He growled into the receiver, sitting up straight and curling his claws into the meat of his thigh.

                "Yeah, I know, bro. Just- can you come over? We're about to do a sweep and Mom wants your pack to come watch the house while we're gone," she breathed, sounding scared and on edge. She shouldn't sound like that. She's the older one, the future Hale pack Alpha, and she should be confident and stern. Instead she just sounded tired.

                "I'm on my way," Derek informed, jumping up and grabbing his leather jacket and keys from the table before darting out of the door.

                "See you," Laura muttered and the line went dead. Derek pocketed it stiffly so he could pull on his jacket; he felt like his joints had solidified. Adrenaline and protective instincts punching through his veins like lead, his canines were out on display but he really didn't care.

                He pulled his phone back out and dialed Isaac as he flew down the stairs. The beta agreed to bring Erica, saying they're hanging out. He hung up to call Scott.

                No answer.

                Derek climbed into his car and peeled out of the parking lot, effectively cutting off a minivan trying to turn left as he shot onto the highway. He tried Scott again. He didn’t answer again. Growling and throwing his phone into the passenger floor, he turned right to stop by Scott's house and knock the hell out of him for ignoring his Alpha. It is not the time to be playing hooky.

                He barely had the car in park before he was jumping out and speeding up the porch to pound on the door.

                An older brunette woman in scrubs opened the door with a spoon dangling out of her mouth. Something on Derek's face made her eyes go wide and she took a quick step out of the way, saying Scott's upstairs and not to hit him too hard because he had school tomorrow.

                Derek was up the stairs, flinging the door open before he finally realizes the buzz that had been under his skin since he pulled into the driveway wasn't from anger or fear. It was that smell. _The Smell._ Only a hundred times more potent, more bitter. Like invisible smoke, cloying and thick and heavy, curling into his nostrils and staining his lungs. It was making his mouth dry, making his fingers shake. And throwing the door to Scott's room open did not help. It just sent a huge wave of the smell right into his face, into his nose were it hit him like a punch to the chest. He faltered, anger and confusion and determination and protectiveness flashing over his face before he reigned his expression back in.

                Scott was lounging on his bed, Xbox controller in hands. Some scrawny kid with a buzz cut was lying flat on his stomach beside Scott. They were both staring at him with surprise and apprehension. He couldn’t stop looking at the other boy. The human. His fucking mate.

                He was so awkward looking. All pale skin and moles and tired, wide eyes. He honestly looked like shit and for a second Derek's heart lurched painfully and he almost took a step forward, feeling this _need_ to just touch him, hold him, help him. Literally anything to get that look off his face. The smell was not any better up close. And he wanted to throttle Scott because this kid was so _obviously_ not okay it made him want to scream. He looked like he just got done crying or lost a fist-fight with someone. Both thoughts made him cringe. Derek wanted to help him. Wanted to see him smile. Wanted to know his name.

                He tore his gaze away, meeting Scott's eyes and growled. The beta’s eyes flashed gold and he put the controller down. The other boy stood up as he did, looking hesitant and _afraid_ and it made Derek sick to know that he put that look in his eyes.

                "Answer you phone next time. Let's go," Derek snapped, turning to leave. Scott stumbled to follow him, the other boy right on his heels.

                "H-hey, ha, want me to come?" the kid asked jokingly, voice wavering. His heart was sputtering, excited or afraid. Derek could not stop the way he reacted to the words. The idea of him following, putting himself in danger, hurting himself, it stole the wolf's breath away and made him feel like he was about to throw up.

                He spun around and stuck him with a piercing glare. He flinched away in shock, hand coming up to block whatever blow he thought was coming. Derek softened his stance but not his expression, too taken back by the kid’s reaction to him just turning around and glaring. He acted like he was about to get hit. And oh shit. Did he get hit a lot? The thought brought Derek’s canines back down, sharp and deadly, a warning to whoever would even think of hurting his mate.

                "Do. Not. Follow. Us." His voice was low and growly and if he wasn't in a hurry he would pull the boy forward and tuck him to his chest, promise to keep him safe, kiss him until he smelled like fresh rain and cinnamon and he didn’t flinch at just a look. But he couldn’t. So he just whipped back around, grabbed Scott's elbow, and drug him outside. The beta yelled to his mom and the boy goodbye and got into the car with Derek without protesting. The Alpha saw the human walking out slowly, climbing into a blue jeep, as he peeled out of the driveway again.

                Derek felt like he was literally about to vibrate apart. He must be going insane, because every instinct in his body was yelling at him to turn around and comfort that boy while his family was waiting for him to come and help. It was terrifying, sickening in its power. Some human should not have that much power over him.

                "Who was that?" he asked as they sped through town, promising himself that he would fix this. That he will make sure that boy was okay. If only to appease his instincts.

                "Stiles. Sorry, by the way, my phone was turned off. Bro-time, you know," Scott said, too happy for the situation at hand. He was practically bouncing in his seat, eyes darting around as they drove, almost like he was excited. Maybe he was. It was his first time meeting the Hale's and his first time jumping into an actual fight.

                "What's wrong with him?" the Alpha asked, voice quiet and nearly desperate. Scott gave him a side-long glance, frowning.

                "Nothing? …I mean, he has ADHD but that's it," the beta said with a nod, like that was the only thing wrong with his friend. Derek had the urge to slam on the breaks and watch his stupid head hit the dashboard. It's not worth the dent, he decided.

                They arrived at the Hale house just as Talia was leading the adults out the door to do a sweep of the woods. She had her Alpha face on. It still sent little shivers down Derek's spine, memories of being a kid and getting scolded popping into his head.

                "Did you call the police?" Derek asked as he stepped out of his car, Scott following him to the porch.

                "Yes, they are sending an officer over later to take a statement. The kids are inside; we'll be back in forty-five minutes," she stated, dropping the robe around her shoulders and falling into her full-wolf shift elegantly. Scott watched her trot away; Laura, Cora, Peter, Blake, and Inias running after her.

                Walking into the house the Alpha slowly began to relax. The scents were familiar and welcome, the sounds of his little siblings and cousins heartbeats were strong and steady from the playroom down the hall. He paced for a moment through the living room and kitchen while Scott stared, before he took a few deep breaths and collapsed onto the couch. Scott joined him.

                "What do you think happened?" Scott asked after a moment. Derek closed his eyes and tilted his head back, wishing the situation would just sort of go away.

                "They were on a run with the kids, letting them get used to it, and Talia smelled or heard something and sent them back. She found some wolfsbane bullets and followed the scent-trail to the edge of her territory. There were some hunters there that shot her in the side to make a get away," he stated, turning to watch his betas reaction.

                "So someone is trying to hurt your old pack?" he asked, looking pensive. Derek nodded, growling as he heard the sound of tires on the gravel driveway. He jumped up to see who it was, only relaxing when he saw Isaac parking his truck beside his own car. Erica and he stepped out, hurriedly making their way inside.

                They sat down at the couch again, Derek making a quick detour to check on the kids. They were quietly playing house, building a fort out of the cushions on the armchairs by the bookcase. They didn't even look up at him when he poked his head into the room.

                Scott had recapped the events to the rest of the pack by the time Derek re-entered the living room. His stress and rage was slowly fading away, in its place anxiety and agitation were taking root. He still felt compelled to go find that dark headed boy and crush him into a hug.

                The sun had dropped behind the tree line, the kids migrating into the living room to beg for food, before Talia returned with a police officer in tow. She was chatting with the older man, robe pulled tight around her body. He didn't seem fazed by her nudity in the least, professionally taking her statement. Derek almost missed the smell he drug in, only realizing it because Sarah, one of the twins, ran over to Talia and he had to retrieve her. It was his mate’s smell, just as potent as it was at Scott's house. It was mingled with the man's natural rustic scent of musk and grass. The combination smelled nice, but again, the bitter overlay made his nose tickle. As he scooped Sarah into his arms, he attempting to serendipitously read his nametag.

                Stilinski.

                Stiles Stilinski?

                He memorized it, rolling the name around on his tongue as he walked back into the living room to deposit a very upset little sister into Scott's arms. The beta tensed but let the little girl wrap her arms around him tightly and blubber into his neck. Derek ignored his pleading look and waited for the officer to leave and his mother to dress before joining her in the kitchen.

                "Officer Stilinski?" he inquired, leaning a hip on the island, watching his mother fill a cup with water from the tap before chugging it. She turned to face the young Alpha, raising an eyebrow and pulling a twig from her hair before tilting her chin up in question.

                "The sheriff, yes," she confirmed, watching him suspiciously.

                "What did he say?" he asked, wanting to get the danger out of the way before asking his mother for advice.

                "He would look into it, ask the Argents if they knew anything, and get back to me in a few days. He promised to set a few patrol cars up around the preserve," Talia informed, moving to lean her elbows on the island, narrowing her eyes at Derek.

                "How did the kids act?" she asks, fishing for the real subject of the conversation, but willing to play along to her son’s shy approach.

                Derek shrugged and muttered good, looking down at his hands, realizing his claws were out before he forced himself to relax. Talia noticed, moving to put a hand over his.

                "What's wrong, dear?" she asked, eyes soft and questioning, searching his face. He clenched his jaw in reply, not meeting her prodding gaze.

                "Hunters tried to kill you, again," he offered, pausing a moment before looking up to meet his former-Alpha's eyes. She squeezed his hand once.

                "That's not what I'm talking about," she said, voice low and careful. Derek kept her gaze for several heartbeats before sighing and checking over his shoulder for ease droppers before leaning forward a bit and lowering his voice to a whisper.

                "It's my mate. He smells sour and bitter, like he's sick or something. And he's young. Scott's age," he said, frowning at his admittance. Talia went all gooey in the eyes and smiled brightly at him.

                "I'm happy for you! Have you talked to him yet? If he's sick or upset you can help him. And age doesn't matter. You're a good man, you're not going to do anything he does not want, okay? This isn't like last time. He is for you, perfect for you. Don't fight that, Derek. You deserve to be happy," she promised, squeezing his hands.

                Derek nodded and offered a small smile in return, allowing a little sliver of hope to burst into his chest. Maybe it was okay. Maybe his mom was right. It was different this time. Last time it had been a conniving girl with a wicked grin. This time it was his mate. His sick mate. He would be there to help, to love and support the boy. To protect him.

                "Who is it?" she asked, a little too excited.

                "Stiles. I think his last name is Stilinski; do you know if the sheriff has a son?"

                "Yes, he does. And I have met that young man. He is very handsome and smart. Your wolf picked a wonderful mate. I know you two will make each other very happy. You just need to get your head out of your butt and talk to him.” She poked him the rib with a joking smile. Derek groaned and pulled his hands away, shaking his head.

                "Thank you, mom." he rolled his eyes and made his way back to the living room.              

                Scott had this haughty smile on his face, all smug and very punchable. That little shit had been listening in. He glared at him until the beta whimpered and started laughing, falling into Erica's shoulder. She raised an eyebrow curiously, but didn’t bother pushing him away. Derek was really starting to regret his decision to become an Alpha.

___

                So Alphas were kind of fucking scary. Seriously scary. Like shit-your-pants-and-cry-for-mommy-scary. Or maybe that was just Derek Hale.

                Either way Stiles was not prepared for the impromptu meeting.

                He had swung by Scott's for an afternoon of Doritos and CoD. Which had been going perfectly as planned, right on schedule, until the door suddenly busted open and six feet of dark, scowly, anger was standing in the doorway. Stiles considered either hiding under the bed or throwing himself out of the window, wondering for a brief second how bad it would hurt.

                Then the dude was growling and wow, yeah, that was totally not nightmare-inducing. Scott jumped up like some eager puppy, though, so Stiles had to follow. He didn’t want to leave yet. It wasn't exactly his house, and he didn't feel like being alone. He debated grabbing Scott's arm and begging him to stay, wondering how he would react. He really did not want to be alone at the moment. His day had been rough and this disgusting pit of dread had been steadily churning in his stomach since he had gotten to second period pre-Cal and found the note with 'fucking pervert' on his desk. If he wasn't so adamant about turning a blind eye to his own problems, he would acknowledge that he was fighting some really effed up urges when he was alone.

                And that scared him about as much as the dude in front of him.

                So of course he had to open his mouth and say something stupid. And then nearly get his head bit off. He would have gladly stuck his neck out, though, had he thought the guy would have seriously bit his head off. Nice excuse for a dirt nap.

                Wow, okay he was kind of fucked up.

                Or Derek Hale was fucked up.

                Yeah, he would just...blame it on Derek. Since he really didn't know the guy, and the guy really did not know him! Yet, still, Stiles was getting the vibe he kind of sort of legitimately hated his guts. People don't just growl at people they don't want to kill. So Stiles had just tucked tail and ran home to hide. Not really, though. He had actually gotten in his jeep, driven down the road, had a panic attack, and had to sit in his jeep for half an hour before he could make his way home to the privacy of his headroom. Panic attacks were kind of a normal thing for him again. He was getting good at riding them out, not so good at avoiding them.

                Thankfully his dad wasn't home, so he just slipped inside and upstairs to his room, falling onto his bed with a shuttered sigh. He stared at his wall for a while, letting the feelings swirl around for a moment before he pushed them down into the void, welcoming the numb hollowness that came after. He sat up after that, testing a fake smile before grabbing his laptop to start his workout playlist. His stomach felt too heavy, bloated almost. He tried to recall what all he had eaten that day, but gave up when it brought this odd achy clench to his heart as well. He would just work out until he felt okay, until he was sweaty and shaky and felt vaguely like throwing up. Then he could take a cold shower and collapse into bed. He was definitely not going to think about Scott or Derek Hale or the note or anything else. If Scott was needed somewhere else, it was not his place to start calling in favors or anything and try to guilt trip his best friend into staying back when there were obviously more important things to be doing. He would deal with himself, entertain himself. Even if that meant doing stupid stuff to keep his own attention. Really, anything but relaxing and letting that disgustingly thick feeling of nothingness slide over him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read or really even closely checked for mistakes. Please let me know if you notice any! And let me know what you think in general.

                Stiles woke up with a pleasant ache in his muscles and a dull, pulsing pain in his stomach. Hunger pains, he realized, after laying for a moment to take inventory of himself. He hadn't exactly been the most attentive of his body lately. He had gotten into the habit of just ignoring any twinges of pain or throbs in his joints. They at least reminded him that he was alive, that he was doing something instead of just sitting around getting fat or lazy.

                Looking over at his window and not seeing any sign of sunlight, he reached under his pillow and grabbed his cellphone, checking the time. It was early, and though he normally was not a morning person, and he definitely was still tired (exhausted even) he really did not feel like sleeping anymore. A pressure was building behind his eyes and he knew it was from laying on his lumpy pillow for too long, so he sat up and took a languid second to stretch.

With his spine cracked and loose, he swung his legs off the bed and padded over to his dresser to grab some clothes. First a quick morning set of pushups to wake him up then he would jump in the shower and make breakfast for his dad since his car was in the driveway.

                Ignoring the heat in the muscles of his arms, he managed a respectable amount of pushups before grabbing his clothes and going to shower. After washing off the sweat and lathering up in a disgusting amount of Axe body wash he finished up and got dressed. He avoided the mirror and brushed his teeth while staring at the water swirling down the drain and trying to recall the lyrics to some rap song in his head.

The morning was going okay; sure, his legs felt like jelly and he felt a little light headed if he whipped his head to the side too fast, but it was one of the better starts in months. Usually he'd wake up with some echoes of a nightmare clawing at the edges of his consciousness, or the sweeping sensation of falling, or drowning, or choking. Sometimes he thought they were night terrors, like he used to get right after his mother died, but since he never woke himself or his dad up screaming and thrashing, he just chalked it up to that whole avoid-your-emotions-and-problems-until-they-invade-your-sleeping-psyche thing. Which he was doing a damn good job of not thinking about, nope. He would just fake it until he made it. Play the happy-go lucky normal Stiles Stilinski role until he was over whatever stupid rut he had managed to get himself into. Because he did not need help, he did not need pity, and he did not need people thinking he was being a drama queen. He wasn't. He was keeping his petty problems to himself, as they should be. Let Scott deal with his furry interests and worries alone, let his dad worry about himself, let everyone else think of themselves and ignore him. That's all they did anyways.

                He took a few exaggerated breaths before forcefully expelling all of those stupid thoughts from his head and bringing up the plot of Captain America instead. If he couldn't stop thinking then he would just daydream the movie until he got to school and could focus on something else other than himself.

                He was to the scene where Steve Rogers got super buff by the time he finished his dad’s yummy, and healthy, omelet. He started the coffee maker and put the food in the microwave for his dad to find. Once he had cleaned up and checked the time again he grabbed his bag from his room and headed out to his jeep. He'd be a bit early if he left now, but maybe he could get some reading for English in since he had avoided that yesterday. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he paused while climbing into his jeep to check it. One new message from Scott opened to a request for a ride to school, along with a horrendously misspelled, excited declaration of: ‘ _and i ahve sum supper imbarassing news for you omg;D!!!_ ’

                He rolled his eyes at Scott's complete lack of fucks when it came to grammar or spelling in his texts. The kid really just...wow. Stiles said he would swing by in ten before resting his phone in the cup holder and pulling out of his driveway. Whatever news Scott had, it was probably stupid, but at least it would keep him distracted.

                Stiles had worked up a pretty convincing grin by the time he got to Scott's house, even if he felt more like crawling back into bed and never waking up again than actually going around joking and smiling with his freaking practically-brother. Really, he needed to stop with the melo-dramatic daydreaming because it was not doing anything to lighten the clouds that stuck to him like soot.

                Scott, for all he was worth, acted like a freaking puppy- bounding up to the jeep and climbing in excitedly. He was all crooked smile and sappy eyes, staring at Stiles like he was some kind of amazing Christmas gift. The human raised an eyebrow at him in question before shifting into drive and pulling back onto the road.

                "So I'm assuming you finally cashed your v-card with that chick, Allison; or did cupid hit you with some fucked up arrow that made you fall in love with me because really, Scott, I'm flattered, but I think we should see other peo-"

                "Stiles! One of the werewolves said that you are their mate!"

                Stiles ran a four-way stop and nearly got rear ended. He pulled over in the church parking lot down the road from the school so he could turn in his seat and fix his friend with his completely shocked face full-force. Scott needed to freaking see it and understand that it was not okay to say shit like that while humans were driving dangerous vehicles that could easily swerve and kill them.

                "What?" he gasped after a second, still staring at Scott, who was still staring at Stiles with that I'm-about-to-vibrate-out-of-my-seat-because-I'm-so-overjoyed look. He was pleased with himself, the bastard.

                "One of the wolves in my- er, Derek's- pack said that _you_ are _their_ mate. As in, they smelled you and kind of want to werewolf marry you and have babies with you," Scott said, and Stiles wanted to throw himself out of his jeep and into traffic because that was a sick joke. He was no one's mate, certainly no one in Scott's pack, or Derek's, or whatever. There was no one in that pack that even liked him. Isaac might have been edging to be his friend, but when those rumors sprang up, he'd backed out faster than Usain Bolt. And Erica, she was in the pack, too, right? Yeah, he'd only ever met her like once and it was during a detention a few weeks ago. She didn't even say four words to him. So what, that left Scott, considering that Derek fucking hated him for some reason. Like, seriously, maim and kill level of hate. If it had been medieval times Stiles was fairly sure he would be wolfy-chow by now, if the glare and snarl that Derek had shared was anything to go by. But still, Scott being his mate? Pff, yeah right...

                Right?

                Right??

                Stiles' eyes widened impossibly further, and he moved a hand to the door handle in case he did need to make a hasty escape, "It's not you...is it?"

                Scott, for his part, cocked an eyebrow, frowned, giggled, and then made a gagging noise. Stiles huffed and crossed his arms, because he was not that bad. Or, okay, he was. But that didn't mean that Scott got to say it. Or maybe it did. He wasn't sure, but it was nice to get to push away his worries and shitty problems for a few minutes and act like his old self.

                "Ew, no, Stiles. It's not me. But would you care if I gave them your number so they can talk to you?" Scott asked with a soft smile. He obviously just wanted his friend to be happy, and a mate was one of the ways to do that. Mates were freaking amazing. They fixed everything.

                Well, not everything, but Stiles could hope.

                "...Fine, but that doesn't mean you get to tell them all about me so they act like they already know me and then I don't have crap on them. 'Cause yeah, that's creepy. If they want to know me, they can talk to me," he said, shifting out of neutral and starting back towards the high school. He was admittedly a bit excited, curious as to who it was. Who was his mate? Really, Erica or Isaac weren't that bad looking. And he really didn't exactly _dislike_ boys, even if he preferred girls, he wasn't blind, okay? Isaac was pretty hot, he could get behind that. Or in front of that? Under that? On top of that?

                But then again, could Isaac get behind this? Or Erica? Would they get to know him and realize that mate or not it was not worth the trouble. Would they leave him? Could they? He didn't want to force someone to be with him, instinct, biology, whatever. If they were going to be with him he just hoped it wasn't because they had to, that they would grow to resent him on some small level. He just wanted someone to be there, you know? Like Scott used to be. Like his dad used to be.

                He was tired of being alone, of having to deal with shit alone. But it was for the better. Don't burden people with your problems, don't start drama, don't be stupid, don't be selfish, be your own person. He just...Stiles wanted to be strong. He wanted to be able to look in the mirror and not cringe, or poke at his stomach and turn to the side and frown because it wasn't how he wanted to look. He wanted to be able to take off his shirt in the locker room and put on his gear and whip ass on the field. He wanted to be smart, and not worry about how he looked. He wanted to be effortlessly aloof like Isaac, or have a take no shit attitude like Jackson. He wanted to be strong like Scott and independent like Malia from math class. But he couldn't. He couldn't fucking stand himself. He was a loud-mouth little idiot with awkward proportions and gross moles and fucked up psychological problems. Who the hell would want to date him, much less be his mate? No one. No one would ever be able to proudly say, "So this is my mate, Stiles." No, he would much more probably hear something like, " _You're_ my mate?? Goddammit, ugh!"

                So yeah, he was not going to get his hopes up, or start waxing poetics, or start weaving amazing daydreams in his head about his 'mate' because chances where they would just skip the state as soon as they got to know him. Hell, even Scott was starting to drift away, and they had known each other since like, pre-k.

                Scott seemed content to let Stiles stew on the knowledge of him having a mate, so they sat in silence all the way to school. And then Scott was hopping out of the jeep to quickly join Allison and Lydia and Jackson by the front steps, leaving Stiles to walk inside alone. His friend didn't even say 'see ya later, bro' or 'bye' or anything, so neither did Stiles. He just swallowed the heat in his throat, bought a water from the cafeteria to try to ease the ache in his stomach, and headed to class. Fuck Scott. Fuck his mate. Fuck everyone. If they didn't want him then he didn't need them. He would get through his problems alone, somehow.

                Maybe he'd just...give up. Maybe he could just, go get in his jeep and drive himself into a tree, or go fish his dad's gun from where the man thought he had hid it from Stiles and just fucking end it. Maybe it would be easier. To just give up.

                But then he'd be a coward on top of weak.

                Nah, he'd just...stop caring. Stop trying. Fuck it.

___

                Scott wasn't exactly sure what mates were supposed to smell like, or how to know if you had found your own, since that chapter on werewolves had only been skimmed over in his class- considering the teacher insisted that it really did not apply to any of them. But Scott was pretty sure that Allison was his mate. She always had this aura of honey and dew and smoke. It was amazing, and it made him feel sappy and drunk. He knew he probably had some idiotic grin on his face half the time around her, but he really could not help it. She was freaking amazing. Everything he would ever want in a girl. The perfect women. He just wasn't sure how to tell her that she was probably his mate. Sure, they were pretty much a couple, they had been on a few dates, and they had made out a few times, but he was still a little hesitant considering her family. She was an Argent, after all. Though they only hunted Omegas now, he was still weary, having heard stories and stories about the work that her family had done in pushing the werewolves to peace instead of strife with the humans.

                That didn't stop him from spending pretty much any free second at her side. She wasn't complaining, either, so he really did not see any reason to stop.

                So, yeah, he might have been ditching Stiles a little more often than usual, than he used to. But he had a girlfriend now! Stiles would understand. And if he got Derek and Stiles set up like he wanted, then Stiles would have his own dates and relationship stuff to worry about. They could hang out whenever possible and not get jealous or butt hurt. It was just a matter of time.

                Scott didn't really talk to Stiles much the rest of the day, just the short exchange of words in between classes. The human kept his head down during Economics, and he wasn't anywhere in the cafeteria at lunch, and then he just up and skipped last period all together. Maybe he wasn't feeling good. He'd be sure to send him a text later, after dinner at Allison's. Which he really hoped went well. It wasn't his first time meeting her parents, but it was his first time staying for dinner, and he was kind of nervous.

                Chris had seemed okay enough, they had had that awkward, mandatory "So you're dating my daughter, let me threaten you..." speech and then had come to this terse mutual understanding of not really talking to each other aside from hello, how are you, I'm fine, thank you, Allison is very wonderful.

                Victoria had been the truly scary of the two. Scott had a hard time not being intimidated by her carefully hidden threats when she gave him that icy look and shook his hand with a little too much force.

                He'd never met her grandfather, though, who she had mentioned would be staying over for a while so he would get to meet him tonight. He wasn't too sure how to feel about that. It was a little awkward. Not to mention shameful, considering they ended up getting picked up by her mom since neither of them had their license or a vehicle. Well, Scott rode his dirt bike to school sometimes, but that wasn't really appropriate to take your girlfriend home on.

                They managed a civil enough conversation on the way, Victoria mostly coercing the two into helping with dinner, even though Scott was pretty sure it was just a ploy she used to keep them within her sights. They had a strict open-door policy in her house, and a strict no sucking face policy, or prolonged hugs, or whispering in ears, or anything else that wasn't savory for eleven year olds to do. He much preferred it when he would sneak her into his house while his mom took a double shift at the hospital. But he was not going to say that to her. Nope. He would enjoy his time with her, endure the family until they accepted him as a future son-in-law and that would be that.

                They had chicken Genovese for dinner, which was delicious. Scott was pretty proud of himself when Victoria mentioned that he had helped make the Alfredo sauce.

                The conversation went smoother than he expected. Allison's parents were nice, her grandfather was as well, from what he could tell. He sat at the head of the table, with Scott two seats to his right and Allison between them. Gerard smiled kindly at him and complimented the food. They discussed school and college and what Scott planned on doing as a career. He told them about his dream to become a veterinarian, explained he could specialize in dogs and such given that his new abilities warranted him a certain edge. He even told a few stories of how he had scared a few neighborhood strays back when he first got turned. Which led to the topic of werewolves. Scott was surprised by the hunters comfort with the subject. He sort of expected Gerard to be one of those right-wing-conservative types that completely hated werewolves and the laws that allowed them to turn minors. It was a little shocking, to be honest, to sit in a room full of hunters and talk about his pack.

                "So are you adjusting well to life as a wolf?" Victoria asked. Scott nodded animatedly, swallowing a mouthful of noodles before answering.

                "Yes, ma'am, it was something that I had been looking forward to for a while so I was pretty well-versed in what to expect. My Alpha has said that I am doing extremely well for a freshly turned werewolf," he boasted, not even ashamed to brag about himself.

                "And you don't regret it at all, ever?" Gerard asked curiously as he sipped at his wine. Scott was quick to reply.

                "No, sir. Not at all. Sure, the life-style is different and strange now but I enjoy every second of it," he said with a smile.

                "And your Alpha-it's Derek Hale, correct?" Victoria started, waiting for Scott to nod in confirmation before continuing, "I understand that he is a relatively new Alpha. How has he been?"

                "Even though he's a new Alpha, he was born a wolf, so he knows the life and how to act. He has amazing self-control and power. Really, he's a great guy once you get to know him. Even if he is kind of stubborn and moody. He's treated us all nicely, though, and he's a natural at his role," Scott assured, feeling this insistent need to make sure that they knew his Alpha was great. Sometimes his beta instincts kind of annoyed him, but in this case he didn't really mind. Derek was a great guy, he didn't mind bragging every once in a while. As long as he never heard it.

                "And there are two others in the pack, if I remember right," Chris probed.

                "Yes, there is Isaac Lahey and Erica Reyes, besides me. But I kind of expect there to be another soon," Scott answered with a grin. If he could just get Derek to pull his head out of his ass long enough to talk to Stiles, they would be set. Real brothers. Pack brothers!

                "The legal limit for a new Alpha is three betas," Chris said quickly, a look of confusion clouding his face. Scott fumbled his fork and got some sauce on his shirt. Allison shook her head, handing him a napkin.

                "Yes, sir. I meant that Derek has found his mate, so he will probably be joining the pack soon, sorry. He is totally not going to turn someone illegally." He quickly cleaned the mess from his shirt and looked up to meet Gerard's curious gaze.

                "That is good news. May I ask who?" the old man inquired. Scott beamed and nodded, excited to share it with someone. He'd already told Allison third period, and was having a hard time not spilling the beans to Erica or Isaac. But he knew they would just end up telling Stiles and making fun of Derek. He had some tact, come on. Scott could be thoughtful when he wanted.

                "It's Stiles Stilinski, he's like a brother to me, so I'm pretty excited for them," he explained, eyes shining. Gerard hummed in acceptance, taking a sip of his wine before excusing himself as he was finished with his meal.

                Allison and Scott gathered the empty dishes and he helped to clean them all before Victoria took him home in her van. He even got a quick hug goodbye from Allison, which her mom pretended not to see.

                Once he was up in his room and flopped onto his bed and immediately pulled out his phone. He needed to give his Alpha, Stiles' number. But after five messages and no replies, he just sighed, plugged it up to the charger, and fell asleep.

                There was a pack meeting that weekend, he could give Derek the info then. It took way too much self-control for Scott not to just up and yell Derek's name in Stiles' face. He had to act all level-headed and calm, pretending like he wasn't losing his shit in excitement over the fact that his Alpha and pseudo-brother were going to be getting werewolf-married in the not-so-distant future. He didn't have any reservation about acting like a love-sick puppy in front of his pack though. They would be able to smell his emotions on his anyways, no use in hiding them. So when Friday rolled around, he just burst through Derek's door, cellphone in hand to give out the digits of his bro. Derek, obviously not expecting such a freaking entrance, jerked his head out of his book and nearly threw his empty plate at the kid in retaliation. But he was an adult and Scott knew he wasn't going to do it.

                "So," he said with a smile as he sat across the table from his Alpha. The older man slowly closed his book, narrowing his eyes in irritation before leaning back in his chair as if to say 'go on.'

                "Your mate," Scott began, and rolled his eyes when Derek visibly tensed. "Your mate is my best friend. So I think I should do the honors of giving you his phone number. And don't say no because I already asked him and he said you can have it," he explained. Derek looked distraught.

                "You told him he's my mate?" he snapped, leaning forward to grip the table hard enough for the wood to groan.

                "No, no, calm down, Jesus. I didn't say who it was out of our pack. I thought you should do that. I just want you two to actually start talking!"

                Derek huffed and growled, snatching the beta's phone out of his hand and scrolling through his contacts. He entered the number of 'Stilinbro24' into his phone, looking up to judge Scott at the choice of name. Seriously, his betas were a bunch of weirdoes.

                "What? He put that in there like two years ago. My name in his is 'McCallMeBaby' with like twelve emojis," Scott muttered with a flush, taking back his phone and self-consciously changing the name to something a little less stupid.

                Derek outright laughed, though, which was kind of startling to say the least. He'd never really heard the guy do much more besides a chuckle or the occasional amused snort. It was a bit disarming to see him openly laughing. And at something so stupid, no less.

___

                For a twenty three year old Derek was shamefully bad at texting, flirting, starting conversations- really anything social. So he spent the better part of a week staring at Stiles' number in his phone and talking himself out of starting any conversations. Really, what would he say? 'Hey its Derek how are you? i got your number from Scott hope thats okay' because then he would know that Derek was his mate, and he was still a little hesitant to reveal that.

                Stiles was a smart kid, a strong kid. He would make a good mate, make a good man one day. What if he wasn't even into guys? Maybe he already loved someone else. It was stupid, but Derek had already had his heart broken once, or as near to a broken heart as a wolf could get without a mate. The point was, that he had put his faith in someone he thought he loved, and they had betrayed them. Stiles was human, he didn't feel the mate bond like a wolf did, there was nothing stopping him from cheating or hurting Derek. And if it took someone else to keep Stiles happy, even if it killed Derek to see, he would support the kid.

                Maybe he was being a little dramatic, but he'd never asked someone out or talked to them with the intention of asking them out. Maybe he should befriend Stiles first. No, that wasn't going to happen. There was no way he would be able to keep his feelings hidden long enough to platonically get to know the human. Hell, he'd only ever 'met' Stiles once and thoughts of kisses and hugs and cuddles were already plaguing his thoughts. It was kind of embarrassing, if he was honest- how mushy he was getting over some high school kid. He'd never wanted to wrap someone up and hold them close before. It was odd, but right. It felt right.

                So, he was kind of wondering if fate was determined for him to talk to Stiles as soon as possible, because somehow he managed to get talked into attending the next Lacrosse game that Isaac and Scott (because the coach had let him join late apparently) were playing in. The same exact one that Stiles was apparently talked into spectating as well.

                At first the human didn't even notice him; he was slumped on a side-rail near the front row of the bleachers, radiating that fucking smell. Stiles' didn't look up until Derek had plopped himself down beside him. The Alpha couldn't help a small smile at the way he flailed a bit. That smile quickly fell when the metallic scent of fear and apprehension laced itself into his already bitter aroma.

                The mere act of Derek taking a seat beside Stiles had the boy afraid. The reality made the Alpha's heart clench in his chest, made his fingers itch to be able to comfort his mate. He shouldn't be afraid. No, he shouldn't feel that way ever.

                "Uh- heeey," Stiles swallowed roughly, raising a hand in a belated, reluctant greeting. "Derek, Alpha, hello. Why are you here?"

                It was almost cute seeing him fumble around with his words like that. Key word: almost. But knowing why he was acting that way took away any amusement that Derek might have had. He wasn't stammering from embarrassment or awkwardness- it was from apprehension, from fear.

                "Stiles, I wanted to apologize for how I acted before; it was unacceptable. I was just- I was having a bad day, stressed- my family, there was an emergency and I kind of was not in the best frame of mind." The words sort of fell out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He didn't regret it though. He meant it. He never wanted to hurt Stiles. Never wanted to see him hurt, see him afraid- especially of his own mate.

                "Uuuooohh," was the eloquent reply. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly, lips chapped and red. They were inviting but Derek refused to be distracted.

                He was patient; waited a moment for Stiles to collect his thoughts and speak.

                "It's okay...I accept your apology, I mean. I've- I've had those days, man. Just, try not to go around being all growly and shit. I thought you were going to kill me," he laughed as he spoke, trying to ease some of the truth out of his words. But they still stung like a slap to the face.

                Derek choked back a whine at the confession. He couldn't stop himself from leaning closer, though, or moving as if to take the humans hands in his own. He wished he could take away the pain, whatever pain- physical or mental or emotional. He just wanted to see the kid happy. Jesus, this boy was going to ruin him.

                Stiles jerked away dramatically from the almost-touch. Some realization flashed over his face and he gasped.

                "Holy shit, it's you!" he nearly screeched, flapping his hand as if to emphasize his point. A few people in the stands shot him dirty looks for distracting them from the game. Derek just frowned in confusion, unsure exactly what he meant.

                "You! You? It's- shit. What? You're my mate? I'm your mate? We're," and he used another exaggerated hand motion, " _mates?!_ "

                This crisp tang of shock rang in the air, permeating through Stiles' scent. It was refreshing in a way, a change from the usual disgustingly bitter smell that clung to him. Derek wasn't exactly sure how to react, but apparently Stiles was a little more than surprised with the news. Maybe Derek really was right to begin with? Maybe he didn't want Derek as a mate? No, he was just not expecting it. He thought Derek wanted to kill him up until a few minutes ago. It was kind of big news to take in.

                "Are you okay with that?" Derek asked quietly, softly. They would be whatever Stiles wanted. Whether it was friendship or more, he would take anything. He just _needed_ to make that smell go away. He needed Stiles happy, healthy; needed him smiling with the sweet blossom of cinnamon encircling him instead of the repugnant sour notes.

                Stiles swallowed several times before he managed to speak again, obviously trying to work out his thoughts.

                "Y-yeah, actually. I think I'm okay with that," he mumbled, licking his lips and turning to watch the game. They passed into an easy silence after that. And he might have imagined it, but he could have sworn that Stiles' smell shifted the slightest bit, a little iota of the pain ebbing out of it.

                The game passed quickly; they didn't exactly speak anymore but it was comfortable. Stiles seemed to relax, even yelling at Scott a few times. It was winding down to the end of the game before Derek broke the silence again.

                "Stiles," he glanced over to check his reaction before continuing. The boy barely flinched at Derek's voice, cocking his head slightly to the side in response. "What are you doing Sunday?"

                Stiles jerked forward in his seat, spluttering for a moment before whipping around to face Derek. The Alpha offered a little genuine smirk.

                "Are you seriously asking me out on a-" he huffed instead of finishing his sentence, gesturing wildly at himself. Derek raised his eyebrows in question.

                "A date? I was about to, yes," he admitted, hoping he wasn't making a fool of himself in front of his mate. For what it was worth, Stiles just blinked and stared at him for a moment, all slack jawed and wide eyed. It was strangely endearing.

                "Holy hell, okay. Yeah, sure, yes. What time? Or, uh, where?" he flushed and licked his lips again, grabbing at his shirt to fiddle anxiously with the hem. Derek wanted to take his hand and calm him down, but he refrained, unsure with what the boy was okay with.

                "How about I take you out to eat somewhere, anywhere you want. Let's say five?" he asked. Stiles nodded excitedly, smiling widely before coughing a few times and pointing at the field to make Derek look away. The wolf could smell him blushing. He hoped he got to smell it more in the future.

___

                They were taught in school that you should never judge a book by its cover. They are taught that first impressions are the most important, too. They are also taught that werewolves will protect their mate to the death.

                So really, looking back on that first meeting, it kind of made sense that Derek would have reacted the way that he did when Stiles the human suggested, even jokingly, to join the wolves on a potentially dangerous mission. He just wished he could have known the reasons behind the actions in that moment, instead of having a mini-meltdown later and totally flipping out.

                Knowing that he had a mate didn't actually change much, though. Not like he wanted.

                He wasn't suddenly happy. It didn't stop him from waking up gasping, trying to claw the weight of a night of nightmares from his chest. It didn't stop him from avoiding fast food and working out like crazy. It didn't stop the fucking whirl wind of _shit_ buzzing around instead his head, under his skin, in his bones. It didn't stop the frustration from bubbling up and spilling over late at night when he would think too hard. It didn't stop anything. Having a mate didn't change a damn thing, really. All it did was give him the knowledge that someone was irrevocably tied to them, whether they wanted it or not- whether they liked Stiles or not. Which they couldn't not like him. It was impossible. Funny how that seemed to be the only way he could get someone to like him. Biology had to force it.

                He might as well enjoy it, though. As selfish as that was, he might as well drink up the attention while he could get it. He sure as hell wasn't going to get it from anyone else.

                It wasn't as bad as he kept thinking, honestly. His mate was a good guy. According to Scott he was a good Alpha, too. He was just...stoic. Or, at least, to other people.

                With Stiles he was different. He was softer, gentler, more open. Like he was trying to coax Stiles out instead of the other way around. It kind of put the human on edge, that first date. The way he so freaking careful, so calm, so...peaceful. It was almost annoying. Stiles felt like he was trying to compensate for something, he just couldn't figure out what. Why? Why the hell was he being so- so infuriatingly _nice?_ No one was that nice to Stiles. Ever.

                He was used to threats from annoyed boyfriends, backhanded compliments from classmates, stinging jabs from Scott, annoyed huffs from his dad. He was definitely not accustom to someone patiently waiting for him to finish his rants or pull together his replies.

                Even when they texted, which Derek was very bad at, he was soft-spoken and kind. He let Stiles complain and whine and moan about Scott and about the crazy kids in class and about how tired or annoyed or angry he was. It made him nervous, anxious. He was scared.

                He was terrified.

                He was going to accidentally tell Derek his real problems, the ones that were building up in his chest and threatening to overwhelm him, the ones he was trying so desperately to just ignore. He didn't want to tell Derek. But it was so fucking easy to talk to the guy, to just pour his guts out and let Derek help him. He had spent more than a few nights, those first few weeks, lying in bed at night, trying to breath through tears while he talked himself out of texting Derek. He would regret it in the morning, after the moment passed.

                It wasn't exactly perfect, their relationship. His dad was kind of on the fence because of his age. They had their second date at Stiles house, with his dad. He gave Derek 'the talk' that dads usually give their daughter's boyfriends. It was humiliating. But Derek was so calm, so adamant about only wanting Stiles to be happy that his dad invited him back that very weekend.

                Scott wasn't much better, being all clingy and stupid at school. When he wasn't shoved up Allison's ass, he was hanging off Stiles' shoulder, asking if Derek was a good kisser. Asking if he wore boxers or briefs. Asking all kinds of stupid questions that were a little too weird to be funny, but Stiles just ignored him. He hadn't even kissed Derek after two weeks (and three dates) of dating. They had, had a total of four hugs and one instance of hand holding.

                It was kind of sad. But expected. Maybe Derek just didn't want that with scrawny little Stiles. He wouldn't blame the guy. He was kind of super fucking built. He could probably have anyone he wanted if he really laid on the charm. But he was sadly stuck with Stiles.

                Not everything got worse, though sometimes it felt like it did.

                The dates were always amazing. Times when Stiles could just kind of drift away form his own problems and have some fun like he used to. It was an hour or two where he could leave his own personal rain cloud at the door and just bask in the sunshine of Derek. Of course, those moods would usually have some odd emotional crashes later. His date nights usually ended with him feeling tingly, numb, and falling asleep with a heavy clench around his heart.

                During the dates was nice, though.

                Derek had texted Stiles on Thursday night saying he was going to pick Stiles up after school Friday and they could skip the Lacrosse game together. It sounded like a great idea, considering that he spent most of the games trying to avoid Lydia's gaze in the stands or Jackson's glare from the field. Scott could just get over it.

                After school Derek was waiting at Stiles' house, chatting amiably with his dad in the driveway as he pulled in and killed his jeep. They both offered little smiles in greeting as he briskly walked inside to change.

                He got a hug and a 'have him home by ten' from his dad before he climbed into the Alpha's Camaro. The seats were warm and soft. Derek offered him a kind smile before pulling onto the road and starting towards town. He asked about Stiles day, asked how he did on his test in AP Chemistry (because he fucking paid attention and remembered Stiles mentioning that Monday, holy shit), and asked where Stiles wanted to go and eat.

                Either Derek hated making decisions- which would make him a really shitty Alpha- or he preferred letting Stiles decide, because even on date number four Stiles was still picking the location. And he knew that if they saw a movie after, he would get to pick that, too. It was odd, suddenly having so much control. And over an Alpha, no less. It was odd, flattering.

                Stiles wouldn't complain. Dates with Derek were pretty much the only time he let himself eat anything unhealthy.

                "How about that new Italian place by the pizza joint," he suggested, fiddling with the radio station to find something good on.

                "Oh, I've had some of their food. It's pretty good; sounds good," he confirmed, turning left to take the main roads through town.

                Stiles found an old rock station and they let the music fill the calm silence on the way. Their silences were always so easy- so calm. It was a bit unnerving. Stiles was waiting from the other shoe to drop- for Derek to snap and give up on trying to 'court' the human. He was waiting for Derek to get fed up with all his quirks, get annoyed with the awkward, often stilted conversations that usually ended with silence. Sure, it was easy to talk to Derek, but it was just as easy not to.

                Derek never complained though, he never tried to breach the silences with useless chatter, he never pried or argued, or snapped. He was always so fucking nice, happy. The only time he had seen the Alpha anything but open and nice was that first meeting. Those had been extraneous circumstances, however, so he wasn't holding that against the guy.

                "You coming?" Derek asked, glancing at Stiles as he cut the engine to the car and stepped out. Stiles quickly scrambled to join him, nearly hit himself in the face with his seatbelt buckles in the process. Derek simply waited patiently for the human to get out and close the door before he turned and led the way inside.

                They were seated near the back, in a booth across from a single elderly man eating alone. The waitress took their drink orders and handed them the menus, leaving with a cheery smile. Derek had his 'serious Alpha' face on, the one he usually got when he was talking to anyone that wasn't Stiles or pack. It was amusing.

                "Split an appetizer with me," Derek said, scanning over the menu. Stiles swallowed hard and pretended to consider it.

                "But if I get the calzone like I want I won't be able to finish it all," he argued.

                "Then you can take some home and eat it later," Derek insisted, putting his menu flat on the table to point at the 'mozzarella cheese sticks' before adding, "We both like this and I don't want to be a pig and get it alone."

                Stiles felt his stomach twist and a heat rise under his shirt.

                "Uh, I'm really not that hungry, Der, if you want it I won't make fun of you for eating the whole thing." He licked his lips, reading over the soup and salad options to avoid the hazel eyes he could feel looking him over.

                "If I get it will you at least have a little?" Derek asked gently, prodding. Stiles bit his tongue, wanting to snap at him, tell him to just order it or don't he didn't want any, but thankfully the waitress returned with their drinks and the bitterness died on the human's tongue. He quickly busied himself with ripping open his straw and taking a huge gulp of his water.

                Derek ordered the appetizer for them and asked for a few more minutes so they could decide. She agreed with a smile, turning to check on the older man before bouncing out of sight.

                "What are you getting?" Stiles asked once he had decided on the peperoni calzone.

                "Classic spaghetti," he said. Stiles couldn't help but roll his eyes. He sounded proud of such a lackluster choice.

                "That's boring. We come to this ambient lit romantic diner and you get spaghetti that your mom would probably make for you if you went for a weekend visit," Stiles chastised, leaning back with a huff. Derek snorted and raised an eyebrow.

                "I'm twenty three. You really think my mom still makes me food?" He deadpanned.

                Stiles blanched, "Oh my God! You're twenty three? Does my dad know?"

                Derek rolled his eyes then, because he knew both of the Stilinski knew how old he was. That had been one of the first things he told the sheriff.

                "This is so illegal," Stiles continued, pushing off one of his shoes to wiggle his toes along Derek's ankle. The Alpha's eyes widened and he nearly knocked over his drink in his surprise.

                "Stiles!" he hissed, jerking his legs away; Stiles just laughed, kicking softly at the older man's knee before pulling his shoe back on.

                The waitress brought out the appetizer along with some breadsticks. She took their orders and menus and left then again. Stiles grudgingly ate two of the six cheese sticks, pretending he was only doing it for Derek.

                 Honestly, all he really wanted to do was eat the whole fucking plate of those delicious grease balls. But he knew that he would regret it later, even having just two. The oil was going to make him sick. Oily and sweet foods had been doing that lately to him, that and eating too much. It was kind of weird, he mused, since just last year he was practically eating his dad out of house and home, and Scott's mom, and the lunch ladies, but now he just...was really watching what he ate. School food was pretty much out. Fast food was out. Salads, fruits, veggies, the healthy crap he poured onto his dad.

                The dinner went well, for the most part. Stiles drank more water than he really ate of his food. But he managed just enough to deny a to-go box, which he was thankful for. His stomach was already turning unpleasantly from the overload.

                They did see a movie after, some new comedy that Stiles unashamedly fell asleep half way through. Derek recapped the plot, though, even doing a few of the more stupid quotes when Stiles' pushed him. It was nice, a mostly relaxing get away from himself. He was reluctant to get out of the car when Derek pulled back up outside his house.

                He ran his finger over the door handle, staring at the leather of the door for a moment. The car idled, and Derek was quiet. Stiles slowly turned around, meeting the Alpha's gaze with a small smile.

                "Thanks," he muttered, unsure what to do. What to say. He didn't really want to go. Didn't want to be alone. He wanted to just curl up and sleep, right there beside Derek. But he couldn't. Mate or not, that wasn't okay. His dad would be mad, Derek would probably be mad.

                "Thank you, too," he paused to look down for a heartbeat, "When do you want to go out again?"

                "You can come over after school Monday and crash with me and Scott. We were going to play Call of Duty, but I bet I could talk him into Mario Cart instead," he asked, letting a little shiver of hopeful affection slide into his voice. He could just picture Derek trying to play Mario Cart. Gruff Derek freaking Hale, playing a stupidly irritating video game with two seventeen year olds.

                "I can do that," he agreed. Stiles grinned and nodded.

                "Sweet," he said, ending the exchange. Neither of them looked away, though. They just sort of looked at each other. It wasn't intense. They weren't just staring into each other's eyes, too caught up to look away. No, it was more like they were searching the other's expression, trying to discern their thoughts.

                Derek was relaxed, the corning of his mouth tilted up. His eyes were wide and open, hair messy but attractive. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Stiles watched as he swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked back up, suddenly aware of his own breathing. His heart was hammering in his chest and it probably wouldn't take werewolf hearing to hear it. His hands were clamming up, a flush working along his skin, making him feel fidgety and warm.

                "Can I-..." Derek started, shifting slightly, his hand twitching up before falling back into his lap. Stiles licked his own lips before nodding. The Alpha brought his hand slowly up to cup the human’s cheek; he moved into the warm palm of his mate, letting his eyes fall closed slightly. He let Derek pull him gently forward until their noses bumped.

                They paused there, and Stiles felt a pleasant buzz fill his head. He couldn't believe what was happening, holy fucking shit. But it was. He could feel the warm, soft puffs of Derek's breath against his lips, feel his thumb stoke delicately along his cheekbone.

                Stiles closed his eyes as Derek moved forward that last inch, he let the chaste heat of the werewolf's lips bleed onto his own. His skin tingled, he felt warm, light-headed, shaky, giddy. A giggled bubbled from his lips as Derek pulled away after only letting their lips touch for a brief second.

                He opened his eyes to see Derek's soft, sappy smile, adoration seeping out of his eyes as he stroked across Stiles' cheekbone again.

                "I-," Derek started before stopping himself abruptly. He flushed and swallowed before pulling Stiles forward again to press another soft, reverent kiss to his mate's cheek. "I'll see you Monday," he promised.

                Stiles nodded, taking Derek's hand from his face, giving it a little nuzzle before squeezing it and turning to quickly jump out of the car and up his driveway. He rushed inside, thankful the door was unlocked. His dad was watching television in the living room and called out a goodnight as Stiles ghosted up the stairs. His skin still felt tingly, he still felt that pleasant buzz under his skin and in his head.

                He went to sleep with a full stomach and a clear mind.

___

                At first Derek was a little worried about having to juggle a pack and a new mate. He wanted to focus all his attention on Stiles. The kid deserved it. It was pretty obvious he was starved of it lately with his best friend skipping out on him and his dad always busy. At the same time, though, Derek was afraid that Stiles would pull away if he thought the man was trying to comfort him. He might see it as pity, or coddling. All Derek wanted was for the boy to be happy. And he knew that trying to just straightforward confront Stiles about his problems would only make him get stubborn and stop talking all together. So Derek was clever about it. He was kind and open and gently, waiting for Stiles to come to him. He would text the kid anytime he wanted, talk about whatever, do whatever. It was fun; it was a nice break for the Alpha. And Stiles got to be in charge for a while.

                Most the time, when they hung out, the bitterness or the sour undertones of the cinnamon and earth scent that was Stiles dissipated. Derek couldn't be sure about when he was alone, or with other people, but at least for a while he was happy. It was a start.

                The first date was a bit awkward. It was Derek's first time out in a while and he was a bit hesitant, but he quickly realized that Stiles was willing to lead the conversations so the Alpha relaxed a bit. Being around his mate made him feel better, it eased away his worries, his stress over running a pack. He didn't think about Isaac or Erica or Scott the whole night. He just enjoyed his time with Stiles.

                That wasn't to say that his betas didn't thoroughly annoy and stress him out in his free time. At pretty much any given meeting Scott spent the whole time trying to worm embarrassing stories about Stiles into the conversations or teasing him about being so mushy around the boy. He mostly just ignored the younger wolf, trying not to seem interested in any of his stories. Derek was just thankful that his other two betas seem bored by the topic of his mate. He really did not know what he would do if Isaac and Erica both joined in Scott's idiocies.

                Despite any of the backlash he was getting from his pack over dating their friend, Mr. Stilinski was a kind man. He understood the need to be around Stiles, to be his friend. He allowed them to date, so long as they waited until the boy wasn't a minor for anything else. Derek couldn't agree more, actually. He didn't want to break the law, even if they tended to be lenient when dealing with werewolf mates. They could be patient and wait for Stiles to turn eighteen, and then if Stiles wanted to, they could do more. And then, if they both wanted to, when they were ready, they could even bond. Which, if Derek was honest, still kind of scared him to think about. Mate or not, bonding was not to be taken lightly. That was a one-way street and if they did it, there was no going back. They would be stuck with each other until Derek died. But if it's what Stiles wanted someday, the Alpha would not be the one to say no.

                He was already having a hard time saying no to Stiles. He wanted the best for his mate. He wanted to spoil him, give him anything and everything he wanted or needed. The kid was ruining him. They hadn't known each other two months and Derek was already wanting to spill fucking love confessions to the kid. It was sickeningly sweet.

                But then when they kissed- oh fuck, Derek was soaring for that brief second. It was hands down _the best_ kiss he had ever had. He felt like a pile of putty after Stiles had gotten out of the car. His heart didn't stop beating like a rabbit until he was home and lying in bed staring at his ceiling with a sappy grin.

                Fuck, he was even looking forward to a silly night playing video games with two high schoolers. What had his life come to? He used to be a respectable, intimidating man. He used to be able to scowl and glare at someone until they backed down, even when he was a beta. Now? Now he was getting giddy about meeting up with high school sophomores. Now he was practically a blushing virgin all over some dorky kid with wide eyes and a grossly addicting scent.

                Life was cruel that way.

                Saturday he called a meeting to put his betas through some more practice over control. He used the time to keep his mind off of Stiles and his dumb basically-play-date Monday with Scott. The practice went smoothly- no fights or arguments. Isaac was reserved the whole time, and even Erica seemed preoccupied. He sent them all home around seven, having to literally push Scott out since he had decided to park himself on the couch and eat Derek's Pistachio. Those things were freaking expensive.

                Sunday was slow; Derek slept in until around noon. He was more of a morning person, but every few weeks he tended to sleep in on the weekends. It was a relaxing, tepid day. At around four he got a text from Laura saying that he should come and visit. He pretended to make a big deal out of it, but honestly he was a little excited to share his progress between him and his mate with his mother. She would probably even offer him some advice on how to get Stiles to open up and share without realizing it.

                Cora met him at the door when he showed up at the Hale house. Matthew and Sara, the twins, were wrapped around her feet. She pulled him inside with a huff.

                "Jesus, you took your time," she complained, leaning against the door as she tugged Sara off her leg. The little girl immediately shot over to Derek's leg and clung on. He peered down at his litter sister with a fake scowl. Sara rolled her eyes and giggled.

                "It's my day off; I don't have to be here as soon as Laura calls," the Alpha responded.

                Cora laughed, detaching another kid from herself.

                "You don't have a job, every day is your day off." She smirked when Matthew attached himself to Derek's free leg. The twins where giggling, demanding that Derek move.

                "Running a pack is a job," he offered. Cora scoffed, walking around him and into the living room.

                "Gooo!" Sara prodded, pulling up Derek's pant leg to twist his leg hair as incentive. He winced and made a show of trudging into the living room. They didn't weight a thing on his feet, but the more he pretended to be worn down, the more they giggled. Cora gave him an amused look from her spot on the couch. Talia peeked in from the kitchen at the noise the twins were making. She smiled in greeting at her oldest son.

                "Where's Laura?" Derek asked, plopping himself down beside Cora. The twins rolled away from his legs, and straight into a wrestling match on the rug.

                "Out with her mate," Cora informed, pulling out her phone to answer a text. Derek took it as his cue to join Talia in the kitchen.

                She was standing at the stove, reading the back of a box of garlic sticks. A large pot of water was beginning to boil in front of her. Derek joined her near the stove, noticing the noodles sitting beside the sink. Of course. She was making spaghetti. He couldn't stop a snort of laughter as he emptied the noodles into the water.

                "What? Spaghetti is a fine dinner, don't chastise me," Talia warned.

                "No, it's just that Stiles was making fun of me about this Friday," he amended vaguely. His mother smiled in return.

                "How are things going, anyway?" she asked, dumping the whole bag of garlic sticks onto a tray and sticking them in the oven. Her family were a bunch of animals when it came to food.

                "Good. He's been better, I think. I'm just waiting for him to actually tell me what's wrong so I can help him," he says. They both lean against the counter, eyeing the noodles as they cook.

                "Have you asked him what's wrong?"

                "Well, no. He would just bull up and not tell me anything then. Not even Scott knows. I'm waiting for him to come to me."

                His mother hummed in response, turning to stir the spaghetti. They chatted a bit more as they finished dinner. Laura showed up with her mate Lilly just as they decided the bread was done. Cora herded the twins to the table and got them drinks.

                Laura and Lilly sat and Derek brought them drinks, trying to play good big brother. He got a thank you from Lilly and a playful sneer from his sister.

                Inias was drawn with the smell of food from his computer up stairs. He pressed a loving kiss to Talia's cheek before helping her dish the food out.

                They had a nice family dinner, the first since Derek had moved out. It was nice, but it made a little itch of want form in the Alpha's chest. He wished that his mate could have been there. Seeing Laura with hers and his mother with hers- it lit something in Derek. Maybe envy. But he wanted for Stiles to be sitting beside him, joining in the conversation and the easiness.

                Maybe he could invite Stiles to meet his parents soon. Was it too fast? He'd met Stiles' dad. Then again, Stiles was underage and still lived with his dad. Would Stiles think it was weird to meet Derek's parents? To meet his family? He just wanted to show off, really.

                After eating and getting trapped into helping Cora do the dishes, he shared his good-byes and made his way back home. When he got back to his empty apartment, he couldn't help but shiver at the cold, stillness of the air. It was empty, quiet. The smell of pack and mate helped to ease him, but he couldn't settle his nerves. It took him awhile to fall asleep that night.

                He woke up at about nine to a text from Scott.

                _'hey so i guess stiles is sick cause hes ditching so we should get him some soup and surprise him after i get out of school??'_

                Derek frowned, checking to make sure he didn't have any messages from Stiles before replying:

                ' _sounds fine. see you later.'_

                Taking a shower that morning he couldn't stop fidgeting. The eeriness was still heavy in his apartment. It was getting to him. He couldn't relax. He quickly got dressed and decided he would just waste time around town instead of staying inside. The walls were feeling a little too close, the air too tight. Besides, he couldn't shake the insistent needed to help Stiles. He would wait for Scott to head over, but that didn't mean he couldn't go pick up some stuff from the grocery store or walk aimlessly around Wal-Mart for three hours.

                Finally, Derek got a text from Scott that he was on his way. Derek may or may not have been sitting in his car a few blocks away waiting for Scott to get out of school. Either way, he was the first one to get to Stiles'.

                The only vehicle in the driveway was Stiles' jeep, so he parked beside it and climbed out with a few bags of stuff in his hands. The rev of an engine preceded Scott a good five minutes before he actually turned the corner on his dirt bike.

                "Oh my God, what all did you buy?" Scott laughed as he killed his bike and jogged over to join Derek on the front porch.       

                "Soup," Derek offered. Scott didn't look impressed, but took the answer as truth. He turned and let himself into Stiles' house.

                "You didn't knock," Derek pointed out, feeling a little weird about just walking into Stiles' house. What if the kid was asleep? That would be kind of creepy. He could probably go to jail if the Sheriff wanted to press charges.

                "I've known him since we were like six, knocking is stupid," he called from the stairs. Derek made his way into the kitchen to put up the soup and set out the medicine. He could hear Scott banging around upstairs, probably helping Stiles to the bathroom or something. The Alpha debated on making soup or not, unsure which kind his mate would want. Maybe he was just really stuffy or something and didn't even need soup.

                "Hey, is Stiles downstairs?" Scott called from above, voice a little rushed. Derek frowned and immediately searched the bottom level. He let his senses spring up, smelling around for Stiles' scent. It was fresh. With a startled spark of panic, Derek suddenly realized that the only heartbeat he heard in the house was Scott's. He spun around on his heels, doubling back over to the kitchen to recheck the scent trail. Stiles had been in the house, normal scent flaring through the kitchen and the living room. Derek followed it outside, to the jeep. He pulled open the door and was immediately assaulted with a peppery, acidic stench. Fear, panic. It made him almost gag, covering his tongue and teeth like a sickening polish. Stiles' backpack was sitting in the passenger seat, his keys dropped in the floorboard. A little smear of brown drew the wolf's eyes to the headrest. Dried blood.

                Oh. No. No, no, no.

                Derek's heart leapt into his throat, fear and anger surged through his veins. His canines dropped, cutting his lip. Scott was beside him, saying something, trying to comfort him, but he couldn’t' even hear the boy. This all-consuming rage was over taking him. His mate was gone. Someone had taken him. Someone had hurt him. Someone had fucking hurt Stiles. He was going to _kill_ them.

                He paced the driveway, trying over and over to pick up the scent trail from the jeep, but it just stopped past the mailbox. He was driving himself crazy. He couldn't pull back his instincts, couldn't stop his wolf from bursting through his skin. His claws were out, his fangs flashing. His eyes were probably red, too. But he didn't bother to worry about that.

                Scott called John as soon as he was sure Derek wasn't going to just bolt and start trying to kill people. The Sheriff was livid, promising to be over there as soon as possible. He said he was going to bring a deputy and call up some help on the way.

                Derek honestly didn't fucking care who or what it took to get Stiles back, he wanted the boy back. He wanted him safe, warm, alive. He wanted him in his arms, right then. Fuck, if anything happened to him. He had never wanted to throw up, cry, and kill something at the same time in his life until then. He really had no idea what to do, how to find Stiles.

                The sound of sirens drew him from his pacing. He stood stock still, watching as Stiles' father parked quickly and hopped out of the police car. He was angry, that was apparent, but he was also deathly focused. That was what Derek needed to be. He needed to be focused, concentrated. His mate needed him. He couldn't just freak out and be useless.

                John took their statements, looked over the house, the jeep. He said he could see sighs of a small struggle, that someone took him, and that he was going to check with neighbors and see if they had seen anyone. Derek just nodded, moving from foot to foot, trying to stay calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments. Sorry for the wait, btw, this was a loooong chapter. The next one will be very jam packed with action, also, so look forward to that!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter but kind of busy! Sorry about some of the stuff, I'm not 100% about hospitals and I've never written an action scene before...

                The first text comes at seven that night.

                Sheriff John Stilinski had ran to the station to relay the situation to his officers and let them know to stay vigilant. For what, exactly, he wasn't sure. He came home less than an hour after leaving, Deputy Parrish stuck to his heels. The young officers helped him ask around the neighborhood to see if anyone saw anything. They said no, that there were no strange cars, no yelling, or strange behavior, nothing suspicious. It was infuriating.

                Sitting, waiting, thumbs shoved up their asses.

                Derek spent two hours pacing around the living room, growling, huffing, and trying not to cry or break something. He had never felt so trapped, so weak. Stiles was missing, taken, and hurt. There was blood stained on the Jeep headrest and panic stuck to the interior of the vehicle.

                John never seemed to get off his phone- making call after call to see if they had found anything. Where to start? What to do? Who? Why? He called the station almost every hour to check in on their progress. See if they had any reports of suspicious behavior or lurking vehicles anywhere.

                Scott was like this infuriatingly calm rock in a stream of chaos. He was optimistic, insisting that Stiles would be fine. 'We'll find him. He's okay. We'll find him, don't worry so much.' It really made Derek want to punch him in the face. He wouldn't be so positive and insistent if Allison were the one missing and not Stiles.

                At around six Erica and Isaac, along with Melissa, showed up to decide on what to do. Should they spread out around town and try to pick up Stiles' scent? Would it be smart or a waste of time? Ultimately, the decision on what course of action to take was up to Derek. He really wasn't in the best frame of mind, however. All he could think about were the 'what ifs.' If he was okay, if he was alive. If he had been taken because of Derek. If he would be safe and protected if Derek weren't in the picture. God, if anyone hurt him he was going to rip their goddamn throats out. Stiles had enough on his plate without the shitty drama of being kidnapped. He didn't need some traumatic event added to his list of things to stress about.

                They were sitting at the dining table, waiting for John to get off the phone. From what Derek had been ease dropping on, it sounded like maybe they had finally gotten word from an anonymous tip that there was some strange noises coming from an abandoned warehouse. Derek was itching to go and check the validity himself, run to the location and make sure it wasn't Stiles. He needed to do something. But he wasn't stupid. It was fairly obvious that whoever had Stiles knew what they were doing. They had managed to mask his scent, somehow. So they would obviously have experience working against werewolves. Perhaps some type of anti-wolf sect of Hunters? Derek wasn't sure, exactly, but he knew that realistically he would not be able to save Stiles' without his pack. They were strong, smart, and Derek was only one person. Even if he was an Alpha now. He couldn't just ignore the urge to move to action. Sitting around was killing him. He felt like he was just enabling the abduction of his mate. It was infuriating.

                His phone buzzed in his pocket, an annoying distraction from trying to listen in on the hopeful conversation between John and the officer on the other line. He tugged his phone out, intending to just turn it off. The flash of an unknown number made him pause. This clenching anxiety crept into his gut, and he just somehow _knew_ that he had to open the message.

                The number was from some type of computer or pager, only four numbers instead of the 10-11 digit mobile codes. The message was blank, with a single attached photo. He stopped breathing as he opened it, fear edging into his mind.

                The photo was of that morning, of Stiles in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans walking to his jeep with his backpack thrown over his shoulder. He had this vacant expression on his face that even the grainy camera managed to catch. It was eerie, frightening in the intentions hidden within the image. Derek stared for a moment, his blood running cold.

                Another came a moment later, while he was still staring at his mate's frozen face. The next one took a moment for him to work it out. The lighting was odd, too dark and contrasting, even for his sharp eyes. He audibly growled when the image clicked into place in his mind. Stiles was slumped in a leather seat, a van, his eyes closed and his body laying prone on the seat. His hands were tugged behind his back, probably tied, and duct tape covered his mouth. He looked pale in the harsh lighting.

                The others were crowding Derek then, trying to see what he was seeing, figure out why their Alpha's eyes were bleeding red and his claws where digging into the wooden table. He clenched his jaw, drug his hand from the table down to his lap so he could dip his nails into his thigh.

                Scott was the next to recognize the image. He jerked from the mobile screen as if burned, a stricken expression on his face. He turned to fix John and Melissa with a horrible look. John hung up mid-sentence.

                "What? Is it Stiles? Is he okay?" he demanded, moving to look at the image. It was too blurry, dark for him to make sense of, so he turned to Scott.

                "It's of Stiles. He's been...taken, or kidnapped-" his words stopped in a gargling growl as his shock quickly shifted to anger. He began to pace, dragging his hands through his hair and letting his canines drop.

                "It looks like he's in the back of a van or something," Isaac narrated for the humans, "He's tied up and unconscious I think. That's all I can see, it's too dark."

                John snatched the information up like a life-line, immediately dialing numbers on his phone again.

                Derek's phone vibrated in his hands and he opened the third message with shaking fingers. A message accompanied that one, an address that he memorized in a flash before looking at the photo attachment.

                The third photo was Stiles sitting on dirty concrete. The lighting was better, but harshly contrasted Stiles' face- it caused him to look hollow and stark. His eyes were wide and wet with tears. He was just as pale as the second photo, but the duct tape was gone. His mouth was open slightly, lips red but busted wide. Blood was streaked across his collar, his shirt torn and hanging loose off one shoulder. A bruise was standing out loudly against his pale cheek, and his left eye looked puffy, like it was starting to close from pain or bruising. Derek only needed two seconds to take in the image before he was bolting out of the door and into his Camaro. He was barreling down the road before any of his pack even made it to the door.

                Heart thumping wildly against his ribs, Derek panted for breath as he sped towards the address. It was that fucking warehouse that John was talking about. He had hung up before he could give them the yeh or nay on whether or not to investigate further. That meant when or if they figured it out without following Derek they would be too little, too late to save Stiles now. Whoever the fuck it was had already fucking hurt him. He was bleeding- alone and afraid- and Derek was not going to let his mate deal with that. He shouldn't ever have to deal with that. Derek was never going to let it happen again. He was never going to let anyone hurt Stiles again. Not even himself. He was going to talk to the human, demand to know why he always smelled so bitter. He was going to force Stiles to get help even if it made the human hate him. He didn't care. His health was more important. Why hadn't he realized that? He was selfish, and now Stiles' was getting hurt because of him.

                How he got to the warehouse without getting pulled over or trailed by police was something he would worry about later. Because the second his car was in front of the building he bolted out of the vehicle- not even pausing to kill it or put it in park. He raced into the building, half shifted and growling. The smell of blood and Stiles was thick in the air, making his instincts roar with the need to protect and help his mate.

                As he entered the large open room of the warehouse his eyes instantly locked onto Stiles. Who was slumped on his side, back facing the doorway. He was curled in on himself, legs and arms tucked against his chest, as if to shield himself. Derek couldn't see the damage from the distance or angle, but he could hear Stiles' ragged breathing and his fast but steady heartbeat. It was probably the best thing Derek had ever heard, and that thought made the man want to weep for himself and his mate.

                The older man standing tall and proud beside Stiles filled him with nerves. He noticed the twenty or so hunters flanking the man, guns aimed and steady at the Alpha. He could smell wolfsbane in the air, and narrowed his eyes at the man in barely restrained anger. If he moved, tried anything, they would surely shoot him, and even an Alpha couldn't take twenty fucking hunters with wolfbane laced bullets. He would have to wait for his pack; fuck why did he leave them. He should have waited. He should have thought rationally instead of been brash and selfish. Maybe if he did that from the beginning Stiles would be actually happy and healthy at home instead of sprawled on the ground in a heap of blood and pain. That truth, that sight, twisted like a blade in his chest.

                "Derek Hale," the man greeted, his voice nearly cheerful in its tone. He was weaponless, Derek realized. "Do you know who I am?" he inquired innocently, tilting his head as if honestly curious. Derek couldn't hold in the growl that tumbled from his lips. The older man tutted in disapproval.

                "I'm sure you remember my daughter, at least. Kate?" he asked. The name felt like a slap to the Alpha and he swallowed a roar of anger at the mention of that woman. The bitch who had tried to kill his family. The woman-no the _monster_ who had tried to use him to hurt his pack, destroy his life. The man seemed amused by his reaction.

                "Ah, I see you remember her. Well I'm sure you will be pleased to hear that I am her father, Gerard. Hmm, shame she's in jail. She was doing God's work, you know," he nodded to himself as he spoke, "Shame she never got to finish it. And as her father I thought that I could help her see the end to her life's mission, Derek. You see, when I hear that Kate had been stopped and incarcerated while attempting to eradicate Beacon Hill's _infestation_ I just knew that I would have to continue the job."

                "What the fuck does Stiles have to do with the 'infestation?!' He's human!" Derek shouted, livid and desperate for some way to get to Stiles, to help him. He wished his pack was behind him, that the Sheriff was with him so he could let them deal with the Hunters while he helped Stiles. Which was selfish thinking again, something he needed to stop. It was only hurting him, and Stiles.

                "He has everything to do with this, you mutt! He's a mate of the Hale pack, he's as much a part of it as anyone else. And he's human. Weak and small, and easy to snatch up. I knew you would come to get him. And when your pack gets here and we kill you all, we are going to kill him. Then we are going to burn your family to the ground like Kate failed to do," the old man said with this calm voice, staring at Derek. A chill ran down the Alpha's spine, and he felt this unwelcome wave of fear slide over him. This man, these people, were crazy. They wanted to kill his whole family just because they were wolves. Dear God, they were willing to hurt a human, they were planning to kill Stiles. That thought was like a splash of cold water down Derek's back. _They were going to kill Stiles._ An itching rage was building in his chest, filling his veins with fire and steeling his shaking limbs. Calm swept through him, sharpening his vision and straightening his shoulders. This energy was bubbling up from Derek's gut, out into his arms and down to his fingertips. It left him feeling tingly and his muscles coiled tight.

                "Why don't you try it, huh? Come on, kill me," the man taunted, knowing that Derek wouldn't make a move without his pack to back him up. He couldn't. Not feasibly, not with twenty wolfsbane utilized guns trained on him and a skilled hunter standing strong and close to his mate’s unconscious body. Even if he felt like he was about to tip forward and crawl out of his skin from the pressure, the power, bottling up inside of him. He couldn't.

                "Come on, pup," he insisted, a smirk tugging at his lips as he lifted a foot to rest on the human's side. He kept Derek's gaze as he pressed his foot down, adding pressure to Stiles' ribs until the human let out a choked sob and shuddered from his spot on the floor.

                In an instant the white-hot rage that had been carefully held below Derek's skin bubbled up and over. He felt this shift, this vibration deep in his bones as his entire world burst into action. There was less of a second’s time between the man putting his foot on Stiles' side and Derek letting out a reverberating roar that tore through the room and rattled the windows of the warehouse. He could feel the sound shaking the bones in his chest, tearing painfully from his throat, but he couldn't stop it, didn't even try. As the roar tapered into a chilling growl the Alpha felt the itch in his chest burst out into his limbs and roll through his consciousness. He fell to the floor on his hands and knees, the hunters staring in shock, horror as he convulsed on the concrete. It was only a second more before the half shifted state Derek was holding was replaced with a large, pitch black wolf crotched and menacing on the concrete. His eyes were red, sparkling with intelligent, as he scanned the men.

                Two of the Hunters lowered their guns in surprise, taking a half step away. That was all the opening Derek needed. He shot forward in a flash, tearing into them with dagger-like canines and razor claws. He managed to fell five more of the hunters before the rest began to fire, catching up to what was happening. The slam of a bullet into the meat of his hip didn't even slow him as he whirled on the others, plowing into one with force enough to send him crashing into another. They both fell, one cracking his head on the hard floor and going still. The other scrambled to get away, forgetting his gun that had fallen from his grip. Another stab of pain in his shoulder made him set his gaze on a little group of five that had stumbled to stand together. They were firing with trembling hands, eyes blown wide with terror. The wolf let another booming roar rip from his lungs as he tore into them as well. Blood filled his mouth, staining his fur. He brought them to the ground, only feeling one more bullet hit his leg before the rest of them were sprinting from the building in a feat of self-preservation.

                Turning to face Gerard, whose face had flushed in anger and determination, Derek paused to reassess the scene. Gerard was poised over Stiles, one of the discarded guns in his hand. It was aimed at the human, the cold metal digging into his temple. A little whimper made Derek's hackles rise, the noise made him see red.

                He'd never moved so fast in his life. He streaked across the half a dozen yards to Gerard; before the man even had time to react and pull the trigger Derek had him pinned against the floor, his head made this terribly satisfying thud as it met the concrete. Derek's teeth had torn into the old man's arm, ripping and tearing as the man cried and yelled for release. He writhed, kicked, pushed, trying to crawl away, but Derek pushed his paws into the man’s chest and held him down with enough force to push the oxygen from his lungs.

                Blood was filling his mouth again, too metallic and too bitter. It was sickening, but he didn't pause to let himself think. He just bit and scratched and reveled in the sound of snapping bones and begging cries. He had his teeth pressing slowly into the man's throat when a voice startled him enough to pause.

                "Derek! Stop, please!" Scott yelled, and Derek dropped the half-dead man back to the ground. He turned to see his beta sprinting into the warehouse, John right after him. They both ran to Stiles’ side, falling to the floor to gently move him onto his back. The human hissed and whimpered again, trying to curl back into himself.

                Forgetting about Gerard, the Alpha slowly moved to the other two. His ears were pressed back, his head low. Shame, fear washed over Derek. He'd forgotten about Stiles in his rage, in his bloodlust.

                John pulled out his phone quickly, dialing for an ambulance. His hands hovered over his son's body as he grit out the location into the phone.

                Derek fell to his stomach beside his mate, staring at the boy, begging for him to be okay. There was just as much blood on him as there was on Derek. It was frightening, and made the Alpha's heart thunder in fear. He whined and nosed at Stiles' hand, praying that he would wake up and be fine. His heart was still steady, but he looked so bad. So broken, and small, and pale. It hurt to see him, but Derek couldn't look away. He licked at his mate's palm, trying to comfort him, trying to coax him into consciousness. He felt so powerless, so weak and lost.

                The sirens of the ambulance drew the man from his thoughts; he realized he was trembling when he pulled himself up onto his four shaky legs. Scott jumped up to lead the paramedics inside. The men faltered at the door, glancing around the scene of unconscious bodies- blood- with wide eyes. Their gaze landed on Derek, whose fur was matted with drying blood. He felt sick with the thought. They schooled their expression back in, falling into the professional mindset that the pack needed. They carefully placed Stiles' onto a stretcher, and wheeled him out to the waiting vehicle. The three men followed, and one of the assistance threw a blanket to Derek so he could turn back. He thankfully wiggled under it, shifted quickly, and wrapped the fabric firmly around himself. The paramedics shot him another wide eyed look before turning to Stiles. The paramedics looked the human over, and thankfully managed to quickly stabilize him.

                Derek glanced down at himself, shuddering at the sight. His chest was practically dripping with blood. He could feel it smeared across his mouth, his jaw. His hands stained the blanket and he could feel his own blood oozing slowly out of his gunshot wounds.

                "Ride with him, Derek. I will follow with Scott. Parrish is about two minutes out, but I can't leave until another officer gets here," he informed, casting one last lingering look at his son before turning and hurrying back into the warehouse. Gerard was unconscious, but still alive. The man was cunning, and Derek didn't blame John for not wanting to take any risks on leaving him unattended. The Alpha gratefully climbed into the back of the ambulance. He didn't take his eyes off Stiles the entire way there, never stopped listening to the human's steady heartbeat. One of the paramedics turned to Derek as they lurched into drive, zipping towards the hospital. The small women helped Derek clean the blood off of himself and helped him burn the wolfsbane from his wounds. It only took him a moment after that to push the bullets out and heal. He barely even winced during the process, too preoccupied with monitoring Stiles' heart rate and condition.

                When the ambulance pulled to a stuttering stop, the paramedics leapt back into action. One pushed open the doors and urged Derek to go ahead inside. He lingered long enough to watch them rush Stiles' through an emergency entrance and several nurses and doctors to swarm him. He walked inside the pedestrian entrance with stiff legs.

                The nurse at the admittance station beckoned him over as he wandered in. She asked if he was okay, if he needed to see someone. He just asked for some spare clothes and took a seat by the staff doors. She came from a supply closet with a bundle of hospital extras just as Scott, John, Melissa, Isaac, and Erica jogged through the entrance. John moved to the admittance desk to begin the paperwork for Stiles; the others bee-lined for Derek.

                "What happened?" Isaac demanded, eyes roaming over Derek for signs of injury. Melissa glanced at him, then John before darting into the staff area. She pulled her pass out of her pocket as she slipped into the back.

                "It was Gerard Argent," he offered simply, not feeling like speaking about it until he had to give his statement for the imminent police report.

                "What about Stiles?" Scott asked with wide and worried eyes, obviously understanding Derek's reluctance to relay the literally gory details

                "He was stable the entire ride here, and they didn't seem too worried," he promised, standing to find a bathroom and get dressed. They let him pass without making too much of a fuss. He dressed, cleaned off the remaining blood, and checked his now-healed wounds again before leaving.

                When he returned to the ER waiting area, ratty sweatpants and a too small shirt on, Erica was the only one left sitting in the room. He frowned and glanced around, a little upset that they were gone. Were they talking to Stiles? Was he okay?

                "We got moved to a waiting room thanks to Melissa. Come on," the blonde said as she briskly walked through the double doors and straight to the ICU. They arrived after a few more turns at a small room with a little plaque 'Private Wait Room 1A' on the door. She pushed it open, and allowed Derek to enter before she closed it and took her seat by Isaac.

                Scott was pacing around the room, whining, his eyes darting around like crazy. John was perched on the edge of a seat near the door, phone pressed to his ear as he talked to his deputy. Isaac looked worried and small in the corner, Erica gazing from him to Scott and back again with this anxious look on her face.

                "Is there any news yet?" Derek asked Scott as he sat beside John near the door. His beta shook his head no.

                They sat for a quarter of an hour, the room stuffed with the scent of anxiety and fear and anger. Derek tapped his leg furiously. He replayed the events over and over in his mind. He tried to analyze Stiles' state from his memories, tried to determine how bad it was.

                The knock on the door startled him; he hadn't even noticed anyone nearing the room. Fuck, he felt like he was coming unravelling. He felt frayed, like his senses were crumbling under his stress. Maybe that's what happened when a werewolf lost a mate. He wasn't sure, exactly, but he knew it was never good. It would kill him if he lost Stiles, even if they weren't bonded yet.

                Melissa poked her head in with a tight smile plastered on her face. She eased inside and closed the door, turning to John and Derek. Scott stepped forward to catch his mother's words with rapt attention.

                "Well, he's still stable. The worst is a mild concussion from a blow to the back of his head and two hairline fractures to his ribs. He has heavy bruising and a black eye, but we can't find any internal bleeding or life-threatening injuries. And thankfully, he hasn't gone into shock from trauma. However, John, there is something we should talk about later when he wakes up. I can't give you any more details, the doctor over him will have to. He will be here to talk with you more in depth within a few hours," Melissa informed. Derek felt his heart stuttered and an anxious rage grip his chest. He stood and began to pace; Scott took his seat.

                "Thank God," John breathed as he grabbed the woman's hand to give it a squeeze. "Yes, Derek is here. He can give you his statement when you get here. Yes, thank you," he spoke into the phone before hanging up and turning his full attention to Melissa.

                "When is he going to wake up?" his voice was filled with hope that made Derek want to whimper. His mate shouldn't have been in the situation to begin with. Fuck.

                "He is on some pretty heavy morphine, and we are having to wake him up every half hour due to his concussion, but he isn't exactly fully awake. He's still kind of disoriented. Dr. Millron said he expected for Stiles to be awake and talking by the morning, however," she answered, trying to remain positive. Derek prayed she was right. If anything happened to Stiles he would lose it.

                When Stiles woke up, when he got out, Derek was going to make him get help. It was obvious the kid wasn't okay. Derek had been stupid to think that just because he was being nice to the kid that he would magically get better. Stiles' needed professional help to fix him. He needed someone to really talk to. And Derek was going to get that for him, if he had to drag the human to the appointments. He was never going to let this happen again. And he was going to make the sour, bitter tones of Stiles' scent disappear. He was going to do it, even if Stiles hates him for it. Even if Derek had to tell everyone about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/reviews/suggestions/etc are amazing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!  
> Not beta'd please point out any mistakes you notice. Thanks. c:

                The deputy arrived a few hours after Melissa gave them the overview on Stiles condition. Dr. Millron still hadn't come to explain John's son's condition more thoroughly, and none of them had even heard anything more on his situation since Scott's mom. They were starting to get antsy, and the night rolling past wasn't helping anyone calm down. Tension was rising high in Derek's shoulders and John had drank about half a dozen cups of coffee while they waited.

                Derek gave his statement to the officer when he came into the room, not even bothering to sit or move somewhere private. Scott and John gave their statement as well and the deputy promised to return for Stiles' once he was awake and okay.

                At around one in the morning Melissa peeked back into the waiting room, bleary-eyed and with a tight smile. She made Scott go with her, saying he needed to go home to shower and eat, and that they would be back later. Isaac and Erica left soon after, saying they would bring Derek some clothes back with them. He just nodded as they left.

                The room was quiet with just John and Derek. Neither man spoke, just allowed the brittle silence to keep them steady, to bask in their hope that Stiles' was okay.

                Salvation came in the form of a tall man with thick glasses and the name tag 'Dr. Millron.' He knocked on the door at half past three before letting himself into the room. John stood abruptly, crossing his arms as if to physically prepare himself for the bad news. Derek stood hesitantly to the right, swallowing thickly to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

                "Well, gentlemen," Dr. Millron began, tapping his finger against the clipboard with papers and a manila folder clipped to it in his hands, "Stiles is doing fine. He's awake right now and eating a snack. We have him on a saline drip and low dosage of morphine. He's mostly lucid, but has requested no visitors at the moment--"

                "Why has he requested no visitors? Did something happen?" John cut in, eyes widening and his shoulders twisting inward. There was a thinly contained panic in his eyes.

                "No, sir, nothing pertaining to the incident. He's voiced his concerns on how you will react to some news. I suppose I should be blunt, so excuse me. Your son is underweight, and his cholesterol levels, B.M.I., and blood sugar levels are all too low for a young man his height and age. Frankly, after a chat with him, even without the official second opinion of a psychologist, I would say it's safe to assume that your son has some form of an eating disorder."

                The man patiently waited for John to process the information, watching as the sheriff's mouth fell open and tears welled in his eyes and a flourish of emotions flashed across his face. From confusion to stubborn disbelief to resigned acknowledgment. It wasn't quiet acceptance of the truth, it was just too big of a pill to swallow so quickly. Derek, taking the news and cradling it like a guilty mistake, reacted rather explosively- growling and turning to kick a chair hard enough to make the leg collapse into itself. The seasoned doctor barely flinched.

                "He has an appointment with a therapist already set up, and I have some documents here from our nutritionist that should help him pick a healthy diet," Dr. Millron added as he handed a packet of nutritional information and diet plans to John, who took it with a numb nod and a tight expression. He prayed for a moment that he was just dreaming and the worse of Stiles' injuries was some superficial fractured bone and not a life-long fucking battle against something he couldn't even see to fix.

                "All the information you need is in that packet, and I have taken the liberty of circling the symptoms and fears your son has shared with me, so you two can better accommodate his needs in the future," he leaning forward to point at a highlighted bit of text on the first page.

                Honestly, Derek wasn't even surprised. Some part of him knew. He'd fucking seen the way Stiles acted when they went out to eat. He'd heard his excuses for not eating his entire plate. Fuck, and he'd just neglected the boy while he hurt himself, while he hid it. He should have opened his eyes, confronted Stiles, to hell if it made the boy hate him. He should have told the sheriff, told someone, gotten Stiles help.

                And it took this, him getting kidnapped and roughed up, for them to find out, for Derek to finally face the music. Never again, never. Next time, no matter how small or meaningless, anything that bothered Stiles would be addressed then and there, openly and thoroughly. He wasn't going to avoid it, ignore it, or hope it just magically got better, he was going to do something about it. He would fix it. He wasn't going to let this happen ever again. Stiles was never going to get this bad again.

                "When can I see him?" John asked after he skimmed the packet for a few seconds. The doctor seemed to contemplate him for a moment, taking in his face and his body language before nodding minutely to himself.

                "I'll talk to him about allowing visitors, but I can probably sneak you two back for a quick check-in soon," he assured, turning to flash Derek a supportive smile. The werewolf just nodded his appreciation for the man's attitude. He was too wound up to do much more. All he wanted to do was go and comfort Stiles, his mate. Go and make sure the boy was okay, that he knew that they weren't going to judge him or be angry. He just wanted to _do_ something instead of sitting around in a waiting room.

                "At the moment, however, I should be getting back to my other patients. I'll make my rounds back to his room in about half an hour and send a nurse to come and escort you two back," he promised as he clapped John on the shoulder and exited the room.

                As soon as the man left the reality of the news hit Derek full force. This wasn't just something Stiles' was going to get over in a week, or even a month. It was...it was going to be with him for the rest of his life. He nearly buckled under the realization. He fell heavily into one of the chairs by the door, letting his head bang against the wall painfully. John joined him, leaning forward to press his elbows into his knees and roll the packet into a tube. The paper crinkled and folded under the steady grind of his fist.

                "It's not our faults," John whispered after a moment. His voice was taut, tears edging into it and Derek didn't need to look over or smell the sorrow in the air to know that the man was trying not to cry. Trying to stay strong while his last relative-last piece of family-while his only son, was sitting in a hospital bed and going through something he couldn't even fathom.

                "It was obvious, though, wasn't it? Thinking back on it? I should have done something," Derek argued with an almost self-deprecating tone. He curled his fingers into his palm, letting his blunt human nails dig into his skin until he felt the burn of his nails.

                "We can't change the past. There's no use blaming yourself. No use thinking of the 'what ifs' and 'I should haves' because you can't go back. You can't change what you did, you can only try to do better in the future," John said softly, his voice strong but low. Derek wanted to believe him, but the guilt ripped at his chest and smothered the faith that the man's words fostered.

                "There shouldn't have to be any 'what ifs.' I should have fucking done something. I sat there on dates with him and watched him eat half a burger and then say he was full. I sat there and watched him lie about eating before we hung out. I let him lie to me. I refused to see the truth. It's my fault he's here. I shouldn't have let him do this to himself," Derek snarled, a guilt-fueled desperation making his words harsh and raw. He grimaced once he was done, trying to regain control of himself and reel back in his emotions. For a moment he thought perhaps he had taken things too far, said too much, as John remained silent.

                Finally he spoke, almost too quiet for Derek to hear.

                "When my wife got sick Stiles was ten. It was such a slow process. In the beginning it was just kind of silly. Her being forgetful. She would leave her purse at the store, or forget to the turn the stove off and burn dinner. We would laugh and joke about getting old...But looking back, I should have done something. I should have said something. I knew it wasn't normal for a woman her age to do things like that. I knew it. But I refused to believe that my wife was-...I refused to see the truth," he took a deep breath before continuing.

                "Her hands started shaking during the spring, I remember when I notice it. We were getting ready to have dinner with some friends. And she kept dropping her necklace before she could clasp it. I ignored it, though...And then things got so bad so fast, Derek. And I still- I still was in denial. I still am, in a way. I hate thinking about it. After it happened, me and Stiles just...I know I should have been there for him. He was so bad then, so broken. But I just couldn't. I pretended that it didn't hurt, and I worked as long as I could and got drunk as much as I could. I wish I could change that."

                Derek slowly eased forward in his chair, watching John's hands as he twisted the paper hard enough it might tear in half soon.

                "I wasn't even there the night that Claudia died. I was at work...That's probably my biggest regret. That my son had to see that happen without me. That I wasn't there for either of them," he cleared his throat and pressed his thumb into his eyes to wipe the moisture away before it fell.

                "The point is, Derek. Don't blame yourself. You can't. You can't do that, you have to just accept it and do what you can to fix it. Claudia was sick. Stiles is sick. It wasn't, _isn't_ , our faults. All we can do is be there for him now," he said with a suddenly strong voice, sitting up straighter to level the younger man with an intense gaze. Derek felt the emotions of the human man swirl around him, press into his skin. He nodded in understanding. He'd never known what Stiles' had been through. To see someone die, much less your own mother, it was just unimaginable. And at such a young age. He knew from long languid chats with Stiles' just how dear the boy held anyone he considered family; he was fiercely loyal. To have someone he loved ripped away while he was still a child, just...it was a horrible thought- a horrible reality. And he couldn't blame the sheriff for how he reacted to his wife's sickness. It was understandable. He'd done close to the same to his own mate by trying to ignore the problem. He wouldn't continue to make the same mistake.

___

                It's four and Derek was dozing with his head resting against the wall when the sound of knocking roused him. He blinked to clear his vision as he sat up and surveyed the room for the source. John was standing in the open doorway, beckoning the Alpha to follow him with a cup of coffee. Derek stood, took the proffered cup, and let John lead the way down the hall.

                The lights were dimmed and only a few nurses sat quietly at the station typing steadily at the old desktops. All the rooms they passed were dark, with sounds of beeping heart monitors filtering out of the open doorways and soft snores. The smell of antiseptic and strong anti-bacterial cleaners made Derek's nose twitch.

                The sheriff stopped outside of a room near the end of the hallway, one with a low streak of light casting an odd glow on the hallway. The werewolf could already smell the chemical laced bittersweet scent of his mate before he even stepped into the room. The steady tempo of Stiles' heart filled him with so much relief he audibly sighed. John shared a look with him as if to say 'let's be supportive,' before he entered the room. The boys heart rate swelled slightly, a skitter in the rhythm so small the monitor didn't pick it up, but it made Derek nervous none the less. Stiles' apprehension made the air thick, and he hesitated a moment more before stepping into the room himself.

                Stiles was sat up in the bed, a blossoming purple bruise splashed across his left eyebrow and cheek looked the worse of the visible injuries, along with the small split in his lip that he couldn't seem to stop licking. A small array of vending machine snack wrappers and unopened junk food rested on the movable table beside him. He looked sheepish and maybe even embarrassed to be caught near the food, but held up a hand to wave awkwardly. The heart rate sensor on his finger made his hand look boney and too small. Derek felt the urge to climb onto the bed and kiss his fingers, hold him close and keep everything bad away.

                "Heeeyyy," Stiles said with an insecure smile. His eyes shone with something other than humor, and it made Derek's chest feel tight.

                "Stiles," his dad answered, the name holding more emotion than he was capable of voicing. It made his son's lip warble, and he grimaced before swallowing and dropping his hand back into his lap. He looked utterly defeated.

                "You look like shit, dad," he muttered, trying again to break the mood that had settled over them. Probably trying to skirt around the serious topics, push away the inevitable talks, the important discussions.

                "I'm so sorry," his father breathed in reply, moving quickly to set his coffee down before he threw himself at his son and pulled him into a close hug. That seemed to snap the delicate walls Stiles' had up, because as soon as his father had his arms around him the boy was clinging to his shirt and sobbing into his chest.

                "I'm s-sorry, too! I'm sorry! I d-didn't e-even mean to- I wa-wasn't even trying t-to--" he cried, words barely understandable. Derek's heart clenched at the sight, at the obvious distress and regret and fear his mate was showing. But right then it wasn't his place to interrupt. It was a moment between a father and a son, and he wasn't going to step between that, even to try to help his mate. He would be having plenty of long talks with the human in the future. Plenty of time to kiss his tears away and quell his fears.

                "I know, son. It's okay. No one is blaming you. It's not your fault. I'm not mad. No one thinks any less of you, okay?" he promised, rubbing his hand along his sons back and trying not to cry at the ease with which he could feel his son's ribs.

                Stiles just whined in response, curling further into his father's thicker frame. He felt like a kid again, and under different circumstances he would be mortified that Derek of all people was standing there watching the pathetic scene unfold. But in that moment he couldn't feel anything but overwhelming fear, and the urge to have his dad hold him.

___

                Getting kidnapped wasn't even the worst of the whole ordeal. That had actually been kind of weirdly exciting at first. He'd only gotten a concussion once before, when he was a kid. It really cast a hazy film over the whole experience. All he could recall was getting jumped in his jeep, dragged out, thrown in a car, tied up and then it was just flashes of sensations past that. The feeling of being kicked, the sound of footsteps on concrete, that deafening roar, the frantic hands on his body, and then it was just nothing for a long time. Then he woke up in the hospital, bandaged up and feeling equally parts nauseous and giddy. If he didn't feel like he was going to throw up he would probably be giggling and trying to talk to himself. That went on every time they woke him up, which was way too often in his opinion. Finally they lowered his dosage and let him sit up.

                That was when the doctor had come in with a nutritionist and the three of them had, had a very _long, detailed_ discussion about Stiles' weight and eating habits. He kind of spilled the beans at that point, confessing literally _everything._ And then proceeded to cry like a baby and beg them not to tell anyone. He refused visitors in fear they would tell his dad anyways, which he knew they would. At least when he talked to his dad it would be when he chose to and not when his dad decided to.

                One of the nurses came in a few minutes after that, Melissa walking in right behind her with an armful of snacks from the vending machine. He blanched at the women, hating the way his stomach rumbled at the sight of the junk food. Shit, he hadn't had anything greasy or processed in so long. Melissa just gave him this small smile, dumped the goodies into his lap, planted a kiss on his head and left the room. The other nurse plopped down on the couch and took out her phone, glancing up every few minutes to make sure Stiles' was actually eating. He did so slowly, working through about four Reese’s and two bags of chips before he couldn't force anymore down and he pushed it all onto the table beside the bed. The nurse pulled a coke from her pocket then and tossed it to him. He polished it off with a little rush of regret. It all sat too heavily in his stomach, but he couldn't- wouldn't- do anything about it. He would get better now. He would have to. Even if he didn't want to.

                After a quick nap and another Reese’s or two he finally scraped up the courage to let the doctor allow his dad and Derek in. They were walking through his door in a matter of minutes, cups of stale, bitter coffee clasped in their hands. He wasn't sure how to act, trying to keep his emotions in check and avoid the elephant in the room for as long as possible. His dad was having none of his shit. Stiles’ was a sobbing mess in under a minute.

                Crying into John's shoulder was probably the safest he'd felt in months, maybe years. He felt like a kid again, small and warm, and he just knew that he would be okay. He knew that it would be okay, because he had his dad. His dad who loved him and was trying his best.

                "You've gotta let us help, son. You've gotta let us in," he whispered into Stiles' hair, and it only made him cling tighter, a new flash of raw pain radiating through his chest and springing tears from his eyes. He thought he was falling apart, but trusted that he wouldn't have to be alone in picking himself back up. He had family, friends. Shit. Why hadn't he just realized that? Why hadn't he told someone?

                He was scared, was why. He was terrified. And he wasn't even sure why. But he still was. He could still feel that bone-deep pulsing _fear_ that would claw into his chest, into his head, every time he thought about asking for help, for sharing, for trying to talk to someone. He just wanted to feel okay again- carefree and happy. He wanted to be okay again.

                At some point he must have dozed back off into an emotional, drug fueled sleep. The sun was up when he opened his eyes next. His eyes were dry and itchy and he felt in desperate need of a shower.

When he sat up he noticed a tray of food waiting on the table for him, and a dark-haired werewolf napping on his couch. He smiled softly at the sight and his heart thumped in his chest knowing that Derek hadn't left.

                He pushed the pillows against the bedframe and sat up fully, pulling the table over to him and deciding to start on breakfast. He didn't plan on finishing it, but he should at least make some effort. Start slow, work up to full meals. He was too afraid that if he just pigged out he would regret it enough to try something stupid. And now that he had a whole little support group thing going, and his secret was out, he might as well at least attempt to get better. Besides, this was just one smaller part of a huge problem. A side effect of a bigger sickness. And if he wanted help getting over anything, it was the sickening melancholy. He was tired of being depressed. Tired of feeling tired. It would kill him if he didn’t get some help soon.

                He was slowly chewing a slice of toast with peach jelly slathered thickly on it when Derek woke up with a loud yawn. It made the younger boy snort in amusement. Derek sat up quickly, looking Stiles' over with worried eyes as he stretched. It was almost uncomfortable in the intensity.

                "You're eating. That's good," Derek said softly, moving to sit in a chair that someone had pushed to the bedside. He immediately started fidgeting over the food, opening a pudding and taking the lid off his orange juice. Stiles' slapped his hand away.

                "Oh my God hands off. I've got this, wolfy," he said with a weak smile. He swallowed down the rest of his bread before listlessly picking up his fork and stabbing through a slimy egg.

                "Ugh," he moaned after sniffing it, picking up the pudding instead. Derek looked a little concerned but didn't say anything, just watched silently. Once he had finished his pudding, juice, and bacon Stiles' pushed the tray away and sighed. Derek bit his lip, wondering if that was enough food, but figuring he was probably just stressing. Baby steps.

                There was a quiet, calm moment were the silence was only broken by the steady beep of the human's heart monitor.

                "Can I lay with you, please?" Derek suddenly asked. Stiles' made an unintelligible noise and jerked his hand away from Derek's reach, surprised at that look on the man's face when he turned to gape at him in shock.

He looked hopeful, nervous. It sobered the boy quickly and he found himself nodding as he slowly wiggled down the bed again. Once he was comfortable and scooted to one side, Derek easily climbed in beside him. He tucked his arm under Stiles' head and knocked their knees together playfully. The boy’s chest felt tight in nervous excitement, his stupid teenage mind supplying that he was in fact laying in a bed with his practically-boyfriend. He focused on his breathing, letting his eyes drift closed as he relaxed into the solid warmth next to him.

                An arm gently circled his waist, pulling his closer, and he allowed himself to bury his face in the man's chest. He fell asleep to the feeling of gentle fingers running through his hair, and the sound of Derek breathing beside him. It was easily the best sleep he had gotten in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue following this. I'm about 90% sure it will include sex..so if you're into that, be sure to check it out.
> 
> By the way, be sure to let me know what you thought in the comments and feel free to review it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note/Warning: This chapter ends with a sex scene, but you can skip it completely if it makes you uncomfortable! Thank you all for sticking around and hope you enjoyed it!

                "Stiles, are you okay?" Scott asked as Stiles slid into his car. The boy had been released from the hospital two days ago and his father was just letting him go back to school, having spent the last two days trying to talk to Stiles about what had happened. About what was going on with Stiles. Though the boy kept swearing he was fine.

                And if someone asked him if he was okay one more time he was going to lose his shit. He was _fine._ He was eating and talking and even agreed to a calorie-rich diet and weekly appointments with a therapist. He was fine, dammit. He wasn't worrying about his problems. He was three days on Lexapro and had eaten about a dozen grease-balls from fast food places. And people were still asking him if he was fine.

                'Oh my God! I heard what happened are you okay?'

                'How are you, Stiles; you look rough!'

                'Talk to me, son. Are you okay?'

                'Are you okay?'

                'Are you okay?'

_'Are you okay?'_

                He narrowed his eyes and frowned, pulling the strap across his chest and buckling his seatbelt. He wished his Jeep wasn't currently part of an investigation so he could just drive himself to school.

                "I'm fine. Can we go now?" he huffed with an annoyed gesture at the still parked car. Scott made a noise of agreement and fumbled to put the vehicle in gear.

                "Sorry, you just...never mind," he mumbled, moving his attention to the road as an excuse to end the awkward, tense attempt at a conversation. Most of the conversations between Stiles and Scott had been that way since the hospital. At least they were better than the conversations with Derek. Who he was currently doing his best to ignore. That man was being unbearable.

                Sure, Stiles was grateful the guy saved his life and all that shit (Which, he wasn't going to die anyways, everyone was just over-exaggerating that whole situation.) It was just, all Derek wanted to fucking talk about was Stiles' health. 'Did you eat today?' 'Did you take your medicine today?' 'How are you feeling?' 'You can talk to me anytime you need, I won't judge you.' Blah, blah, blah. It was exhausting. Jeeze.

                He wasn't a child or an invalid. Stiles could take care of himself. And honestly, he kind of liked it better when no one knew about the moody shit he thought and did. Now everyone was treating him like he was either a child to be protected, or a weirdo head case. He didn't want their pity, didn't want them to feel _obligated_ to help him. He thought it would just be a quick, 'I admitted my problems they are gone now.' Not a whole process. It was hard. It was infuriating. Especially the way his dad would try to nonchalantly stare at him while he ate. He made a point to finish his meal every time. Even if he did just go back upstairs to his room and lay on his stomach and try not to cry after it; his dad didn't have to know about that. Because he was trying and that's all that mattered. He didn't want to talk or think about it. He just wanted to get better by himself, on his own time, and not worry anyone. The only reason he even wanted people to know was because he didn't know what to do about his problems. But now he does, so it's fine. He can handle it. He will. He's fine.

                "What did I miss at school?" Stiles asked instead of letting his sharp mouth run away from him; because he never was good at silences, especially awkward ones. And he was tired of being angry at everyone. _Just act normal; it's fine_ , he thought. _Fake it 'till you make it._

"Uh, well, not much. Everyone thinks you got mugged, though, so I guess we can just go with that," Scott answered, keeping his eyes on the road. He was normally a bit of a reckless driver, but when he was in his mom's car, he tended to get super cautious. It was a good thing for all involved. Stiles, after all, didn't have werewolf-healing like his buddy driving- his bruises and scratches were proof of that.

                "Better story than getting kidnapped and wailed on, I guess," Stiles sighed and Scott winced at his indifferent tone. The situation was kind of pathetic, really. He couldn't even lie about it, either, since the guy had gotten arrested. Now the whole police station, and a bunch of other officials, knew about the time that scrawny Stiles got his ass kicked by an old man. The shame.

                "Hey, at least you look badass!" Scott pointed out, shooting his friend a quick side glance. Stiles felt the corner of his mouth tug into a half smile. Leave it to Scott to find the golden lining of having a black eye.

                "And now I can finally say 'you should see the other guy,' because really. They should see the other guy. I snuck a look at the file," he admitted, flinching pre-emptively at the scolding he knew was about to happen.

                "Stiles, you can't look through your dads stuff all the time! Besides, you're going to see Gerard next Sunday at the hearing. And trust me, after what Derek did to him he's still gonna look like shit even then." His eyes widened, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead towards his hairline.

                "Good," the other boy muttered, looking away so he could pretend like Scott hadn't heard him. Of course, he had. But Scott could keep his opinion to himself if he had any problems with Stiles wanting his fucking tormentor to be punished. Getting smashed up by a pissed off werewolves and thrown in jail sounded like pretty good retribution to Stiles.

                They pulled into the school parking lot, choosing a spot a few rows from the main entrance. Stiles' heart jumped in his chest, but they both ignored it. If Stiles was willing to put on a strong face to get through school, then Scott was willing to play along.

                "How do I look?" Stiles asked with a grin as he slid on a pair of cheap sunglasses. They pinched his nose and the frame dug a little painfully into his bruises, but he could deal if it meant skipping the stares and questions the black-eye would get.

                "Thought you wanted to look bad-ass?" Scott quipped, tilting his head as if to get a better view of the human.

                "You're words, dude, not mine. I just want to be normal." He yanked his backpack from the floorboard in front of him and pushed the door open. "Let's go, Scotty McHottie," he called, slamming the door a little too hard and trotting to the front of the car.

                Scott exited a bit more slowly, taking the time to listen in to the furious pace of Stiles' heart. He met the boy at the front of the car and gently bumped his elbow to Stiles'. _Try to make more positive gestures and affectionate touches,_ he'd read on that 'How to Help a Depressed Friend' website. He wanted to help his friend, show that he cared. And if he had to initiate a hundred bro-hugs and weekend movie marathons, then so-be-it. Stiles deserved happiness, too, and Scott (and everyone else) was going to do his damndest to help him find it.

                "Did you do the homework I emailed you?" Scott asked, leading the way towards the slowly filling school. There was still ten minutes before the first bell rang, but that at least meant that Stiles wouldn't be completely overwhelmed right away.

                "Yeah, and my dad talked to the school. I'm getting some extra time to make up some shit I missed or didn't do," he replied. He was getting some leeway for the months he'd been too apathetic to do much. His grades hadn't slipped very drastically, but the difference between an A and B could mean scholarships to college. Scott already knew all this, though, so Stiles didn't bother voicing his anxieties.

                "Good," Scott nodded. They climbed the steps into the school and headed for Scott's locker since it was farthest from their class, walking quietly.

                Scott slowed as he twisted his combination in, pausing in obvious deliberation before turning to face Stiles with a concerned expression. The human flinched before the beta even opened his mouth.

                "Don't you meet your therapist today?" he whispered, trying to be subtle. That never was his specialty.

                "Yes, now shut up about that crap. I don't want to talk about any of it," he bit out a little bitterly. Scott frowned but nodded and turned back to his locker, leaving the potential argument alone. They'd already had a couple of shouting matches through text; Scott was determined not to prod at the wound. If he needed space that was understandable.

                "Stilinski, I heard you dropped out. I was actually kind of excited," a familiar voice trickled down the hall, tone sarcastically-remorseful. The human's stomach clenched and he felt a wave of acidic nerves wash over him, leaving an awful taste in his mouth. He licked his lips nervously and pulled on a smug smirk, trying to look as casually defiant as possible. Jackson had a matching smirk as he paused to give Stiles a quick once-over. He raised an eyebrow.

                "Wow. You really do look like shit. It suits you," he announced, like he was giving the boy some actually valuable advice and not insulting him to his face. Stiles felt his fingers twitch, the ball of anxiety twisting painfully in his stomach, rising to lodge itself in his chest. He didn't need this. He couldn't deal with it. Dammit, he was trying to be happy not listen to douchebags tell him how fucked up he looked. He already goddamn knew that.

                "Am I not standing right the fuck here?!" Scott snapped, throwing whatever was in his hands into his locker and twisting around with a fierce growl. Jackson wavered, barely stopping himself before he took a step back in surprise. Scott continued, "What's your problem, asshole? Why don't you go do something productive and just leave him alone?"

                Stiles stared at his friend in shock. He'd expected Scott to just drag Stiles away and say Jackson was joking- defend his kind of friend. Stiles was not expecting for Scott to get so pissed he started to shift. He saw the golden shine flashing in the beta's eyes and the sharp growth of his fingernails. It was not at all a good idea to shift at school.

                "Dude, calm down," he tried, but his voice came out a whisper. He swallowed and repeated himself, louder. Scott glared defiantly at the other guy, chin tilted up. Jackson sneered and scoffed when Scott drew his shoulders back as if posturing before rolling his eyes.

                "Whatever, have fun being the pervert's guard dog. I'll be sure to let Allison know the kind of people you associate with," Jackson called over his shoulder as he turned to walk away. He only got a step from the two before Scott was jumping forward and grabbing the back of the boy's shirt. He yanked him backwards enough to grip the back of his neck and turn them. He pushed Jackson roughly into the row of lockers, causing a loud bang and a grunt from the human. Stiles stared at the scene, along with pretty much everyone else in the hallway.

                Scott let the pricks of his claws rest threateningly close to the other's jugular, tightening his grip when Jackson tried to squirm away.

                "What the fuck, you freak! Let me go, dammit," he gritted, trying pathetically to push himself away from the hard metal that was digging into his cheek. Scott growled lowly -the hair on the human's arms stood on end at the noise- as he leaned in closer so Jackson could hear him easier.

                "Don't fucking touch Stiles ever again. Don't even talk to him. You will leave him alone. And you will leave Allison out of this. Do you understand?" he asked the teen. Jackson huffed, still struggling to free himself.

                "Fuck off, freak. Let me go. My fucking dad's a lawyer, you think I'm scared of you? You're screwed, moron," he hissed. Scott answered with a growl, digging his claws in just enough to draw a prick of blood. Jackson gasped and stilled, body going rigid. Scott wasn't fucking around.

                "You will never call Stiles a pervert again. You will never talk to him or about him again, got it?" Scott asked. Jackson held out a full minute before the pressure on his neck had him seeing black and he nodded jerkily. The beta pushed him once more into the wall before pulling away and taking a deep breath. He stepped back over to his locker and picked up his fallen books. By the time he stood and faced Stiles again, his features were back to strictly human, all the fury drained from his body.

                "Come on, bro," Scott said, nudging at Stiles' shoulder to coax him back to reality. The human jumped and flashed his friend an incredulous look before beaming and following the beta down the hall.

                Jackson breathed deeply a few times, rubbing at his neck and glaring at the retreating backs of the two. He noticed the rest of the students in the hall were staring at him. He snapped out a cold, "What the fuck are you looking at?" and turned to quickly trudge down the hallway.

___

                He had read over the packet from the doctor at least a dozen times. He had browsed every discussion board on eating disorders and depression and looked over every medical site on the subjects he could find. He was trying, dammit. Stiles was just... Not coping. At all. He wasn't getting better like they thought when he was in the hospital. Sure he had cried and freaked out a bit, but he was surprisingly calm and accepting about the ordeal while he was still in the hospital. But then the day he got home it was like it had never happened. Sure, he agreed to a therapist, and he followed the dietary plans and stuff, but he wasn't acknowledging any of it. He was just- going through the motions. It was painful to watch.

                Derek tried giving him space to gradually come to terms with his reality, with the situation. But after two days of Stiles just acting like everything was okay when it so fucking obviously was not, it was getting to him. So he tried the understanding, open approach. He tried to show that he could support Stiles, that he was there for him. Whether he need a shoulder to cry on or a verbal dump for his problems, he would take it. He would sit and listen to whatever Stiles wanted to talk about. And he wasn't going to judge him. But every time he tried to get Stiles to open up even a little it would just blow up in his face.

                The conversations between Stiles and Derek would quickly accelerate to arguments. They couldn't even text without Stiles getting angry.

                Derek had no idea what to do.

                He wanted to help Stiles. He wanted him to get better. Not just because Stiles was his mate. Not just because he was falling in love with Stiles. He wanted Stiles happy and healthy because he fucking deserved it. Because Stiles deserved to feel the overwhelming sense of joy and light-heartedness that others had. It wasn't fair that someone as amazing as him couldn't experience that. Derek wanted to change that. He didn't want Stiles to feel the need to hurt himself or feel the need to watch his figure (or whatever his reasoning behind his actions- Derek didn't know because he _wouldn't talk about it_ ) or spend most of his nights crying himself to sleep. Hell, he wasn't even sure if Stiles cried himself to sleep, but he wouldn't be surprised. He never wanted Stiles to cry like that.

                But every time he tried to help Stiles would just get mad at him. He wasn't even returning his texts or calls anymore and he had only been out of the hospital a few days. Derek had talked with John and John had talked with Stiles' therapist. She was supposed to bring up his behavior during their first session. Which probably meant that Stiles was going to be very mad when he got home. If that's what it took for Stiles to be okay, though, Derek would endure. Even if by the end of it all, their relationship was too tainted to be salvaged, he still wouldn't regret it.

                Stiles needed to face the music. He needed to start getting better, start trying. Even if he was scared, terrified. He had so many people willing to help him. He needed to trust them. He needed to trust Derek, his father, Scott. He needed to understand that it was going to get so much worse before it got better. And that the road was going to be long and difficult, but he didn't have to do it alone.

                Stiles needed to realize that if he kept ignoring his problems they were only going to get bigger, the wounds would only fester. And he would be losing a leg to infection instead of getting stitches for a cut.

___

                The room was small, built into the back part of the main office at school. There was a desk shoved in front of the window with the shades closed. The lights were turned off overhead, the only illumination being the dim rays shining in through the window shades. Books and binders were carefully organized on the bookshelf. Small trophies, little toys lined the shelves on the wall by the door right above a filling cabinet. Behind the desk there was a bulletin board where a few dozen pictures of smiling kids and a handful of drawings were stuck to it. The air was cool but tense.

                Stiles took a seat in the chair closest to the door, pulling his feet under the seat before fidgeting and stretching out. He watched the woman -Ms. Morrell- close the door before moving to sit at the desk. She gave a soft smile, one of practice, as she opened his file and clicked a pen out. Stiles shifted in the hard cushioned chair, reaching onto her desk to grab a Rubik cube to occupy his hands.

                "Stiles, it's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot of good things about you from your teachers and family," she informed, her voice soft as the light shining on her dark hair. Stiles hated her tone. She was being too gentle, treating him like he was breakable or something. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. The itching anxiety to leave the session was already bubbling up inside of him. It hadn't even been two minutes and he was already waiting for it to end.

                "Yeah," was all he offered, not exactly trusting himself talking to her. He didn't want her drawing unnecessary conclusion from whatever might spring from his mouth. He was fine and really didn't see a point in coming to these therapy things. The secrets were out now. People knew, and he could deal with it on his own. He had been for years. He didn't want some stranger telling him how to live his life. He'd been in a seat like this before when he was diagnosed with ADHD. He didn't want another shrink poking around his head, telling him how fucked up he was. He didn't need any _labels_ to get better. He just needed time and people to get off his case about it.

                "How are you feeling today, Stiles?" she asked like she was genuinely curious. He looked up at her for a moment to take in her expression before moving his gaze back down to his hands.

                "Fine. I've been fine since the hospital," he answered. He saw her shift from the corner of his eyes but didn't bother to look this time.

                "What do you mean by that?" she prodded. Stiles bit back his immediate responses, taking a second to form an actual reply.

                "At the hospital- it all sort of, crescendo-ed. You know? Like, I'm getting better now. I am better now. I know what to do and what to look out for. So does everyone else. I'm fine now," he said. She made a noise of interest and tapped the pen on her desk.

                "Would you mind my asking how you are better?" she asked, and the question from someone else would definitely sound insulting or demeaning. But from her it sounded honestly interested.

                "I'm eating now. I don't work out three times a day anymore. I'm not constantly debating downing my entire bottle of Adderall. Actually, I haven't taken any Adderall in a few days. I'm on Lexapro right now."

                "Do you think the Lexapro is helping with your moods at all?" she queried.

                "Well, I guess. It's a little early to tell," he said honestly. She nodded and made a few notes on her papers before addressing him again.

                "Would you mind if I asked you a few personal questions?"

                "Isn't that the point of this whole thing?" he asked with a gesture around the room. She smiled sagely in reply.

                "I wasn't sure how in depth you would be comfortable going during your first session," she explained. He shrugged in response, which she took as consent to continue. "Have you self-harmed, Stiles? Such as cutting, burning, biting, scratching, or hurting yourself in any way?"

                Stiles flinched at the question, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He shifted in his seat again, thinking back over the last few months and years. Sure, the urges had been there. Those moments alone late at night or those hours fighting off panic-attacks and eyeing his scissors or razors a little too acutely. But they were just thoughts, impulsive, invading thoughts. Nothing substantial stood out in his mind, though. There was the self-deprecating contentment he'd felt when he'd gotten some bruises during Lacrosse. The ones he would press at while he got dressed after a shower and stare at in the mirror. But he'd never hurt himself intentional.

                "No," he said quietly, hoping he sounded more convincing to her than it did to himself.

                "What about thoughts of hurting other people?" she asked. He jerked his head up to look at her then.

                "No," he said with conviction, a little perturbed she had even asked that. Then again, he was talking to a therapist. And he was on new medication. Maybe it was just normal protocol.

                "Have you ever had any thoughts of or attempted suicide?"

                "No," he said quickly, his heart beating a little too fast. He licked his lips and stared intently at the half solved Rubik cube.

                "Any thoughts or attempts at homicide?"

                "No."

                She paused again to fill out some more lines on her papers before continuing.

                "Do you want to talk about that night at the hospital? Can you tell me about it?" she asked then, setting her pen down and leaning forward a bit.

                Stiles frowned but answered, "I got my ass kicked by some old guy who wanted to kill Derek and his family in some idiotic attempt to continue his insane daughters plan. She's in jail now, which is probably where he's headed too, come Sunday."

                "Is that what you think he deserves?"

                "He tried to kill Derek. And my friends. And he was planning on killing the entire Hale family. I think he deserves whatever happens to him," Stiles said a little quickly, irritation at the situation getting the better of him.

                "What about what he did to you? Do you think he deserves any kind of repayment for that?"

                "Yeah, considering I had nothing to do with that situation. He used me as bait."

                She took a moment to consider his responses before continuing, "How did you feel at the hospital when your friends and family found about your problems?"

                "Shouldn't you have written some of that down?" he asked her instead of answering. Her eyes softened and caught his gaze for a moment.         

                "I see you like to solve problems." She nods to the nearly finished Rubik cube in his palm. He hesitates before placing the cube back on her desk.

                "Nervous habit," he offers.

                "Do you do that a lot?"

                "Do what?"

                "Make excuses for your behavior? It's alright to want to keep your hands busy. It's also alright to feel nervous during your first therapy session. It's normal," she explains. He tries not to laugh at the 'it's normal' part because if any part of him were normal he would not be sitting in a chair in front of a shrink.

                "It's not really an excuse if it's true."

                "Fair enough."

                Stiles sat picking at a loose thread on his jeans for a few seconds, letting the silence settle around the two. It was better than the subtly invasive questions being thrown his way. He was only doing this to appease his dad, after all. He really did not want to talk to her.

                "So why did you quit Lacrosse, Stiles? It was around the time your friend Scott got turned," Ms. Morrell said, shifting her papers briefly before making a mark and setting her pen down again.

                "It was about a month after he got turned. He wasn't on the team at the time, and it really wasn't that fun without him. No one to talk to on the bench, you know?" he joked, trying to get her to move onto something else. Talking about that would just lead to him ratting out Jackson and he really didn't need any more drama in his life.

                "Why wait so long before quitting then?" she prodded. Stiles resisted the urge to get up and walk out of the room.

                "I-...uh, I have my reasons," he said with a grimace, hoping she would take the hint and back off.

                "Alright then, do you mind if we talk about your eating disorder now?" she asked slowly. Stiles stilled to let the question sink in before shrugging. The topic made his stomach twist into knots, but if he wanted everyone to get off his back he was going to have to talk about it to someone.

                "When do you think it started?" she asked.

                He shrugged. Several moments passed in silence before Stiles huffed and added, "I guess maybe when Scott was gone."

                "Let's start there, then," she suggested. Stiles swallowed the building nerved in his throat, shifting his weight in the seat again to get comfortable.

___

                The second session with Ms. Morrell was no better than the first, which had ended with him getting home and locking himself in his room for the rest of the afternoon. John swore he could hear him crying, but anytime he knocked on the door his son would just ask to be left alone. That was the first night since his return from the hospital that he skipped a meal. Two days later Ms. Morrell had contacted John about him possibly being free to attend a session with Stiles. He, of course, had agreed quickly. He would probably do just about anything to make Stiles better, to make him happy again.

                So he had gotten a night shift that Friday and made sure to be at Stiles' school a few minutes before his scheduled therapy time. The young woman who greeted him had smiled graciously and ushered him into a small but warm room.

                "Hello, Mr. Stilinski. I am Ms. Morrell, Stiles' therapist," she introduced herself, sitting as she gestured for him to do so as well. He nodded a hello and sat quickly.

                "How did his first session go? He won't talk about it with me," John asked, worry making his voice gruff.

                "It went fine. He was surprisingly talkative," she answered. John gave a humorless smile at that. "However, I thought it would be best to have you come so we could clear up a few things that Stiles has shared with me."

                "Like what?" he asked.

                "Well, for one, his near desperate insistence that he is fine," she pointed out, giving his file a quick once-over before looking back up at John.

                "Yeah," John sighed, scratching his hand over his head and neck in understanding, "yeah, I've noticed that, too. I wasn't really sure how to address it. He just gets mad if I bring it up, especially that."

                "Well, that's one of the things I plan on bringing up today. An important step in recovery is acceptance that not everything is alright. He needs to admit that."

                "Admit what? I have the feeling you two are talking about me," Stiles said from the doorway, half smile painted on his face. His father gave him a look that made him sigh and the light drip from his eyes. It was time to get serious. He closed the door before moving to sit in the free chair beside his dad, fingers immediately moving to fidget with his jacket zipper.

                "Let's start with how you are feeling, Stiles, then we can start with addressing some things," Ms. Morrell suggested.

                "You mean some problems that I need to work on to be normal," he corrected. John tried not to flinch at his son’s despondent tone.

                "If that's how you want to look at it," Ms. Morrell compromised.

                "That's how it is," Stiles said.

                "That's not how it is, son. Wanting to be normal shouldn't be the reason you are doing this. You should want to get better because it's hell right now," John said quickly, turning to face Stiles. His son refused to meet his gaze, instead staring intently at his hands.

                "No. It's not hell right now. I've been through hell, and this isn't it. This is just- this is like...drowning... It's like trying not to inhale while you're drowning... It's voluntary apnea. This is- this is fighting that instinct not to let water in, to keep my mouth closed for as long as possible, no matter how much it hurts. Even though my head feels like it's going to explode... Because if I let the water in, I'll die. Even though that's when the pain stops. That's when it stops hurting- when you give up. When you finally let the water in. It's not scary anymore, it's...it's actually kind of peaceful."

                John could feel his eyes burning, his hands clenching in guilt. He could feel the rising worry, displaced pain radiating throughout his body. He closed his eyes for a second to collect himself.

                "Is that how you feel right now, Stiles? Like you're drowning?" Ms. Morrell probed. Stiles grit his teeth. When he refused to answer she added, "Do you think it would be easier to just give up?  What if you chose not to open your mouth, though?"

                "Y-You do anyway, it's a reflex," he answered, swallowing back his emotions to continue the conversation.

                “But what if you held off until that reflex kicks in. You would have more time, right?”

                “Not much time," he amended.

                “But more time to fight your way to the surface," she proposed.

                “I guess.”

                “More time to be rescued," she pushed.

                “More time to be in agonizing pain. Did you forget about the part where you feel like your head’s exploding?” He looked up at her in irritation, eyes shining with repressed emotions.

                "Yes, but don't you think a little pain is worth it if it means survival?"

                "What if no one comes to save you? What then?"

                "Stiles," John said quietly, his voice cracked on the word. Stiles looked over at his father, taking in his red face and the broken look in his eyes. It sent a sharp twist through his chest. He looked back down at his hands to avoid the older man's eyes.

                "Son, please don't talk like this," his father begged, hands moving toward his son slowly, but dropping back into his lap when the boy moved away from the aborted gesture.

                "Stiles. It's okay to feel this way. It's okay to talk about it. There are people here who want to help you. People who _care_ about you. Stiles, it's _okay to admit and indulge in your emotions_ ," Ms. Morrell corrected. She needed Stiles to understand that. He wasn't going to get better until he stopped ignoring his problems. Until he addressed his issues head on.

                "Your emotions aren't supposed to control you," Stiles muttered.

                "No, but you aren't supposed to bury all the bad ones, either," Ms. Morrell countered. John nodded quickly at her statement.

                "Stiles, son, it's okay. I- I'm not mad at you. No one is mad at you. I'm not disappointed that you feel this way," John said, trying to make his son realize that he was there for him. There to help him.

                There was a tense moment of silence between the three where both of the men tried to hold in their tears. It was Ms. Morrell who broke the quiet.

                "Stiles, do you want to tell us how you are feeling?" she asked gently. Stiles clenched his hands into fists, fighting the biting sarcasm that fought to spill out of his mouth.

                "Fine," he lied.

                "Tell me the truth, please, son," his father begged.

                This indignant fury ripped a choked laugh from Stiles' throat. He huffed a deep breath, trying to get a grip on his spiraling thoughts and feelings, but the anger that was bubbling in his gut made him want to scream.

                "No, _dad,"_ he spit the word like an insult, "I don't want to. Maybe you should hav-" he bit off his sentence with a growl, swallowing back his rage to glare at his hands.

                "Should have what, Stiles?" Ms. Morrell urged.

                "Nothing," he muttered darkly.

                "Stiles, tell me, I don't care what it is. I won't be mad. I won't be upset. It's okay," John insisted, hoping his son would just _trust_ him.

                "No! It doesn't matter now! I don't care about it now, I can deal on my own! I have been for years, I don't need you to suddenly want to help me," he burst out, hands shaking with his anger. John recoiled as if he had been struck.

                "I- I've always wanted to help you, Stiles. I've always wanted what's best for you," John said quietly. Stiles bared his teeth at his words.

                "Then why weren't you ever _there?_ Why am I always the one who has to deal with this shit _alone? Why?_ Why did you let me watch Mom die alone? Where were you?" he cried, his tears finally falling as he stumbled through his fury. "Why the fuck weren't you _ever_ there for me? Why were you so fucking _selfish?_ I'm the one who watched her _die._ I'm the one who cried myself to sleep for _months._ I'm the one who had the panic attacks and I'm the one who is still fucking trying to deal with it. And you were never fucking there for me, dad! You would just work all day and come home and drink. You still do! Do you _know_ how many nights I have stayed awake _wishing_ you were there?"

                "I'm so sorry," John choked, blinking hard to clear his vision. Stiles was right. He was so fucking right. Where had he been? When was the last time he had dinner with Stiles? Watched a movie with him? Let him ride along in the cruiser? "I'm so so sorry, Stiles. I-I'm sorry."

                "Stiles, your father didn't intentionally do those things. He loves you, you understand that, right?" She waited for the boy’s jerky nod before continuing. "That doesn't mean you don't have every right to be upset, to be angry. You are allowed to express yourself. You are allowed to be angry with your father. It's good that you shared with him. He can work with you to fix it now."

                "Yes, I will. We can spend time together. Anytime you want. I'll ask off for vacation tonight and we can go down to the lake next weekend like before. Anything you want, Stiles. I'm here for you. I love you, son," he assured, leaning over to pull the boy into a hug. Stiles immediately wrapped his arms around his father and buried his face in the man's shoulder, trying to stifle his sobs.

___

                "I'm just so fucking scared," Stiles whispered into the dark, voice choked and raw with repressed tears. His eyes burned and his face was flushed with the heat of his emotions. He felt a warm hand squeeze his, felt the reassurance, the support radiating through the gesture.

                "I know. It's okay," Derek whispered back. They laid in silence while Stiles fought to keep his breathing under control, to keep from crying. He'd managed so far, and he really didn't want to start again because if he did, he knew he would just end up balling on Derek like a baby.

                After several long moments Stiles felt himself relax a bit; he let the wary exhaustion seep into his bones and the warmth of another body lying beside his comfort him. A gentle reminder that someone was there for him. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing mind. The soft, repetitive stroke of Derek's thumb over his skin helped him stay focused on everything but the swirling thoughts in his head.

                Derek laid still, listening to the steady beat of Stiles' heart. He'd been so relieved when he'd gotten a text that afternoon. Stiles was finally ready to talk to him again. Not that he ever stopped trying. He'd been sending little texts every day. Just small, 'good mornings' and 'good nights' and the occasional 'hope youre doing okay.' It felt like this huge pressure had been lifted from his chest when he got a reply. They'd texted for a while after the initial hello, apologizing to each other and then agreeing to meet later that day for dinner at Stiles'. Stiles had said he didn't feel like going on a date, but that Derek could come over and they could watch a movie afterwards. Honestly, Derek would do anything to spend some time with the boy. He had been in his Camaro on the way within an hour.

                John had been understanding, trusting. He didn't give any of the stereotypical 'I have a shotgun and wolfbane bullets and I know how to use them.' Because it wasn't that type of situation. It wasn't the time. His son needed support, needed people to be there for him. So he had swallowed his fatherly pride and invited Derek to spend the night. The younger man had agreed quickly, promising not to take advantage of his son. He would never dream of it. Stiles wasn't ready for that type of relationship right then. They were just going to watch a movie and sleep. Nothing more.

                Because that was all Stiles needed at the moment. Someone to be there. Even if when they got to the boy's room he'd laid on the bed and curled in on himself, eyes shut tight. Derek had sat at the edge of the bed, hand resting on his hip patiently while Stiles gathered himself enough to speak. When he did he couldn't seem to stop, rambling about his worries for himself, about his future, his fears, his thoughts. So Derek laid with the boy and held his hand while he talked. He offered little reassurances every once in a while, little promises to do better, to help. They shared jokes and had short debates about a few movies. And Stiles had cried, but Derek didn't even hesitate to wrap his arms around the boy and let him get his grief out. By the time Stiles' had calmed the Alpha's shirt had a warm patch of damp fabric on the chest and Stiles' was practically boneless with exhaustion. He didn't even bother to worry about being embarrassed for having cried on his sort-of-boyfriend-mate, because he knew that Derek would do anything for him. He knew that Derek cared. It sparked a shimmer of love in Stiles' chest, a little fissure of hope that someday he would get to spend the rest of his life with that man. Hopefully, at least. He just had to get better first.

                Derek had listened to his mate's unwavering heartbeat and let himself relax. He clung to Stiles' hand as the human fell asleep, rolling over unconsciously to rest his face against Derek's side. The werewolf just looped an arm around his back and let the boy get comfortable. He fell asleep thinking up ways to cheer up the younger man.

                When he woke the next morning it was to a warm body curved against his chest, warm puffs of breath fanning out over his neck and his chin tucked over Stiles' head. He let himself soak in the warm weight of the human's arm curled over his waist, the feel of his mate secure in his arms, the smell of them together. It was perfect. He wished he could wake up every day to that. He prayed he got the chance to someday.

                Waiting until the sunlight from the window began to ease into a glaring yellow, the rays that slipped through the shades falling over Stiles' dark hair, he slowly crawled out of the bed. It took a bit of maneuvering and bated breaths to wiggle himself out of Stiles' grip without waking the boy, but he managed. He tiptoed out of the bedroom, down the hall and stairs, into the kitchen where John Stilinski was already sitting with a cup of coffee in hand.

                "Good morning, son," he greeted softly. The term filled Derek with a little shimmer of pride. He offered a smile in return.

                "Morning," he answered, moving to the coffee pot to pour himself a bit.

                "Is Stiles still asleep?" the sheriff asked, looking up from the file he had been breezing over. Derek nodded as he turned around to rest his hip against the counter edge.

                "Does he like pancakes?" he wondered after a few sips of coffee, watching the man for his reaction. The sheriff simply looked up with a curious smirk and a knowing glint in his eyes.

                "Chocolate chip and banana," he answered. Derek gave an appreciative nod as he downed the last dregs of his coffee and placed the cup in the sink. He looked around the kitchen for a few seconds, taking stock of where he assumed everything would be, and what he would need to make the food.

                Twenty minutes later Stiles was drifting into the kitchen with a sleepy grin on his face, hair a wild mess and drool crusted on his cheek. It was oddly endearing.

                "You made this?" Stiles gaped, looking from the small stack of pancakes to Derek. The Alpha smiled warmly and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

                "Not that I think- uh, I didn't really expect you to..." he trailed off, looking back at the warm food. His shocked glee fell to a flash of fear before settling into determination as he took his seat at the table.

                "Stiles you don't have to eat them all, you can have as much or...as little as you want," Derek said quietly as he moved to sit at the table beside his boyfriend. (Boyfriend? Mate?)

                "No. No, I- I _want_ them. I haven't had pancakes and bananas in...forever, Oh my God. I can't even remember the last time," he breathed, stern expression bleeding into one of amusement. He picked up his fork and began to poke holes into his pancakes. Derek watch him with a calculating eye for several long seconds before turning to his own food and pouring a less than moderate amount of syrup on top. Stiles snatched the sticky liquid right out of his hand, moving it to pour a delicate stream over his pancakes.

                "What are you doing?" he asked, trying to gauge if Stiles was just messing with him or if he was actually being so serious about pouring syrup onto pancakes. He got a grunt in reply, the human's eyes never wavering from the thin trickle of maple falling from the bottle.

                "Uh." Derek waited for him to finish his ritual, watching skeptically. Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes at Derek's attention.

                "If you poke holes and then pour the syrup in the holes you get some in every bite. And if you do it right, it's like the perfect ratio of cake to syrup," he glanced down at Derek's plate before smirking and adding, "Unlike that. Jeeze, someone has a sweet tooth."

                "Just for breakfast foods," Derek admitted, peeling a banana and offering it to Stiles. The boy used his fingers to break it into bite sized pieces and put it on his pancakes. Derek did the same.

                John passed through the kitchen entrance around the time Stiles' finished a quarter of his food and had begun to poke at the mushy stuff instead of eat it. He stuck his head into the room and said he was heading to work, but that he was getting off early and then starting his three week vacation. Stiles looked a bit sheepish at the news, calling an 'I love you' back to his dad. Derek waited for the sound of the door closing before he spoke.

                "Do you not want your dad to take a vacation?" he asked softly, watching Stiles' expression carefully. The boy swallowed loudly, poking at a large piece of fruit.

                "I don't know," he muttered, staring intently at his plate.

                "Whether you do or don't, that's fine. He just wants to help, make sure you know he loves you. He would do anything for you, Stiles," he promised, reaching over to rest his hand over the fist Stiles' had clenched in his lap. He sucked in a sharp breath at the gesture, jerking his head up to meet Derek's gaze.

                "I know he loves me. I'm just being bitter." His gaze dropped down to the table, studying the wood pattern as he tried to sort through his emotions.

                "You're not being bitter," Derek urged, squeezing Stiles' hand firmly. "Now that he's gone for work, though. Do you want to watch that movie you promised me yesterday?"

                Stiles looked up with a sly glance, "I didn't _promise_ anything, Big Bad."

                “‘ _Big Bad?'_ That's all you've got, Little Red? I made breakfast for you. I don't think I really fit into the category of vicious monster at the moment," Derek laughed, letting his canines drop for a flash as he smiled. Stiles grinned in response, pulling his hand away to cover his mouth and fake gasp.

                "Oh my, what large teeth you have!" he joked, eyes wide as he stared at Derek. The Alpha flashed his teeth mockingly.

                "The better to bite you with, my dear," he played along, taking Stiles' hand and pulling it to his mouth to snap his teeth near the boy's skin. Stiles snorted, splaying his fingers and rubbing his hand against Derek's face.

                "You won't hurt me," he teased, only to gasp in surprise when Derek grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to rest their foreheads together.

                "Never," he promised reverently; Stiles tried to play off the jump in his heart rate, but Derek just smiled like a dope.

                "You're a sap," Stiles murmured, letting his eyes drift closed as he relished in the warm flood of happiness, content, _love_ washing through him in that moment.

___

                Sunday morning Scott rode with Stiles' and the sheriff to the courthouse. Derek was already there waiting with four coffees and a few bagels. Stiles gulped half of his cup down in one go, fingers shaking with nerves. Derek curved an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his side. Stiles sighed and gripped the cup a little tighter, holding it against his chest as the group walked into the large building. The bricks looked old, but the glass was new and the doorways opened into a wide open hallway with white stone floors and painted walls. There was a security guard standing by a metal detector several feet in front of the entrance. They passed through the check point quickly, making their way to the back court room. The rest of the pack was seated in the audience rows, looking tired and irritated. Stiles took a seat between his dad and Derek, with Scott seated on the other side of the Alpha. The pack wouldn't be needed in the trial until the witnesses were being called; until then they would simple wait. Stiles had wanted to be there through the whole thing. He wanted to make sure that it went smoothly, that Gerard got what was coming to him. That old man deserved to be locked up for a long time. He'd not only raised his daughter to attempt to murder the Hale pack years ago, but he'd tried to finish her demented plan. They didn't do anything wrong. Having hunters come after them was uncalled for. It was insulting. So, yeah, Stiles wasn't exactly there because he'd gotten his ass kicked by the guy. Though that did admittedly play a key role in his presence during the trial. And the odd satisfaction he felt seeing Gerard sitting up there getting grilled by lawyers. No, Stiles was way more pissed off that the guy had the gall to even _attempt_ to hurt the pack. His pack.

                _His pack? When had they become that?_ The thought startled Stiles enough that he snapped his gaze over to peer at the people sitting quietly around him. Erica was surreptitiously texting on her phone, not exactly paying much attention to the going-ons around her. Isaac kept nearly nodding off, having to jerk his head up every few seconds to stay awake. Scott met his gaze and gave a small smile. Derek just threw his arm around the human's shoulder and pulled him a little closer.

                Maybe this was his pack.

                An hour later and they were finally called up, one by one. Each got several minutes of interrogation by both lawyers, with Stiles and Derek getting the brunt of the attention. After they all returned to their seats the two attorney's made their final statements and the jury was dismissed to deliberate during lunch. It was probably the worst three hours of Stiles' life. Despite the reassuring pressure of Derek's arm around his shoulder and his father sitting beside him, he was still letting the doubt and guilt fog his mind. By the time they got up to leave for lunch he was feeling more nauseous with stress than he was hungry.

                They met at the cheap burger place down the road, grabbing two booths in the back. Stiles was squished against the wall by Derek, who had been extremely tactile since that night he slept over. Not that Stiles was complaining. Having a hot werewolf getting handsy was more like a daydream than a nightmare. He was actually a bit relieved to have someone to lean on at the moment.

                Scott and his father sat opposite to them, play fighting for elbow room. It brought a smile to his face to see it. Erica and Isaac sat in a booth beside theirs; Stiles felt a little bad to think he didn't even care that they weren't all seated together. Ever since those damn rumors had spread at school Isaac hadn't given him a second glance. And Erica had never talked to him either way, so even though he was dating the Alpha he wasn't exactly on great terms with the betas. Aside from Scott. He could hopefully change that soon.

                Thirty minutes later -and one argument over whether John should get a salad or a burger- the group made their way back to the courthouse to hear the final decision on the trial of Gerard. Even with all the evidence and testimonies against the man, there was still some tiny insecure anxieties lurking in the back of Stiles' mind. What if he was found non-guilty? He would just come back and try again. They had gotten lucky that first time around. They might not be so lucky the next time. Someone other than the crazed hunters might lose their lives in the battle. That was not something that Stiles' wanted to have to worry about.

                They entered the room, taking their seats in the back rows. Stiles' eyes immediately fell on Gerard. He was hunched in the defendant's seat, the casts and gauze visible even from so far away. Gerard's wrists were shackled with handcuffs, several policemen and security guards standing close behind him. He was the only non-official in the room aside from the pack; Chris Argent refused to defend the man after finding out the truth- he cut all ties with the man. A little voice in Stiles' head thought he would look fucking great in orange.

                After several long moments the jury finally filed back into the room, the judge waiting for them to be seated before calling for their decision. An older woman on the edge of the pit stood and with a stiff frown answered, "Unanimously, guilty as charged."

                There was a soft burst of noise around Stiles' then. First the bursting curses and spitting promises or vengeance from Gerard. Then the protective growling of Derek and Scott and his father's disgruntled scoff. Gerard was pulled from the room with the help of two officers, batons at the ready in case he tried anything.

                Derek guided Stiles' from the courtroom, from the building, walking to stand by the Camaro as they waited for Scott and John to catch up. The Alpha took the second of privacy to pull the human into a strong hug, placing a small kiss on the boy's forehead as they parted. It sent a tingling thrill all the way down to Stiles' toes. He grinned like a dope and climbed in the backseat to wait for Scott to join. They drove back to the Stilinski house to celebrate the good news. Gerard was gone. He would be in jail for years, and if he got out before he died, he would be too old to be a threat. It felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from Derek's shoulders. He could breathe again. His pack was safe. His family was safe. His mate was safe. They could finally focus on more important things.

___

                The Monday following the trial Isaac stopped Stiles in the hall to apologize.

                "Look, dude, I just heard some boys talking about some stuff that you supposedly did and I got a little freaked out. I'm sorry for ignoring you and being kind of a dick," he admitted to the human as they stood beside Stiles' locker. The brunet turned to give the blond a long look.

                "Try not to be so naive next time. Most rumors are bullshit," Stiles eventually replied. The tension between them fell away some, and they talked during class again that day. It was a nice change of pace. Maybe things were starting to get better.

                A thought that revisited Stiles again and again throughout the week. His father was on vacation, spending as much time as possible with his son. Monday evening the boy had come home from school to find Derek and his dad chatting at the kitchen table, delicious smelling soup simmering on the stove. The werewolf had spent the night again that day, but they at least had to keep the door open. Stiles thought it was kind of laughable, really. As much time as he and Derek had spent alone, the werewolf hadn't done much more than making out with him. If he tried to take it any further Derek would just pull away and give him a soft smile, telling him to be patient. It wasn't like he didn't _want_ to totally jump Derek's bones. It was just that for most of their relationship he had more demanding things on his mind. And now that he was starting to wind down from his high-strung anxieties his sexual drive was starting back up again. Still, even if he tried Derek wouldn't let him get much farther than some heavy handed kissing. It was kind of annoyingly adorable how reverent he was that they wait.

                Tuesday Stiles and Scott spent the afternoon teaching his dad how to play Mortal Kombat. It reminded the boy of middle school, back when all they would do was play video games and try to build tree houses in his back yard. They were nice memories, nostalgic memories that brought back feelings of budding brotherhood and sticky hands and pre-teen hormonal confusion. They spent that night on Stiles' roof, talking and laughing over shared memories and stories. Stiles went to sleep and dreamt of his mother and of tiny tree houses.

                Wednesday the whole pack came over for an 'impromptu' movie and pizza night. Impromptu his ass. Derek totally guilted them into it. Or at least guilted Erica into it. Isaac seemed pretty excited. Though, by the time they all left, Erica seemed mildly content as well.

                Thursday Stiles took a nap when he got home, sleeping until dinner was ready and waking to a soft kiss from Derek. The Alpha spent the night for the third time. They had to leave the door open again. Stiles couldn't stop himself from laughing at Derek's reaction when he stripped to his boxers and a tank top and crawled under his sheets. The older man huffed and sent him a glare. Stiles was admittedly baiting for a reaction just as much as he was doing it for shits and giggles. He woke up the next morning to a warm heat firmly pressed against his ass, his boyfriend's hands splayed over his waist and nose pressed against the vulnerable skin of his neck. He took an extra-long, extra warm shower once he managed to wiggle out of the bed.

                He got a ride from Derek Friday morning, arriving at school with a stupid grin on his face and a light feeling in his chest. Derek sent him sappy texts throughout his classes. He even got a picture of Derek, one eyebrow raised in question, holding a shirt that said 'The Big Bad Wolf.' Stiles had laughed a little too loudly, nearly getting his phone taken up in History.

                After school Derek was parked out front in the Camaro, sunglasses on and windows rolled down. He tossed a Wal-Mart bag in Stiles' lap as soon as he got into the car. After shooting his boyfriend a curious look he groped around the plastic sack to see what was inside. There was a new pair of swimming trunks in his size, his favorite candy bar, and a red hoody with the words 'Little Red Riding Hood' in bold white writing on the front. Stiles snorted.

                "You seriously bought this? Did you at least get the matching 'Big Bad' one?" he asked, checking the size on the sweatshirt before shrugging and stuffing it back into the bag. Derek jerked his thumb towards the back seat.

                "It's back there," he said as he slowly eased out of the school parking lot. The line of cars stopping for the teenagers walking carelessly across the road was taking some time to get through. Stiles took the moment to twist around and check out Derek's Wal-Mart haul. There were several full bags in his seats. After a quick scan through them he turned back to face the front and re-fasten his seat belt.

                "Is there a reason you have like two bags of junk food and soda?" he asked as he dug out his candy bar.

                "Your dad didn't say anything?" Derek wondered, finally getting to turn off onto the main road.

                "Say what?" Stiles bit off a good chunk of the chocolate bar, turning to look at Derek for his answer.

                "We're going to the lake? He invited me and Scott to join. I thought he mentioned it," Derek admitted. Stiles hummed in thought.

                "He said something like a week ago," Stiles said. "I thought he was just saying shit to get me not to cry."

                Derek gave him a look out of the corner of his eye, as if to say 'he wouldn't do that and you know it.' Stiles just shrugged and bit another chunk out of his candy.

                "Are we meeting him there?" he asked instead of furthing that particular avenue of conversation.

                "We're going to your house to change and taking your Jeep," Derek informed, relaxing into his seat a bit with the topic change.

                "Cool," was Stiles reply. He finished the sweet and stuck the wrapper back into the bag, turning to watch the scenery zoom by out the window as they made their way towards his house.

                His dad was loading a few towels and a small bag into the back of his Jeep when they pulled into the driveway. Scott must have hauled ass ahead of them, because he was stepping out of the front door with a tank top and swimming trunks on as Stiles' got out of the car.

                "Am I the only one who hasn't changed?" Stiles asked sarcastically, grabbing the bag with his new trunks to head inside to get dressed.

                "I haven't either," Derek called from the other side of the car, walking around the back to hand the bags of food and drinks to John. The older man set them in the back of the Jeep and closed the back door.

                "Stiles go change first and then Derek," John said quickly, as if his son was about to run inside and strip naked for his boyfriend.

                "Jesus, dad, I'm a pure little flower. Derek hasn't touched me," Stiles joked as he climbed the steps of his porch to head inside. He didn't even need to see Derek's face to know he was scowling, trying not to blush. Scott chuckled as he passed the human on the way inside.

                Ten minutes later they were loading themselves into the Jeep. Stiles had called shotgun, his dad demanding to drive even if it was Stiles' Jeep. Scott and Derek were pressed tightly into the back seat, something Stiles found a little too funny.

                The ride to the lake was spent with Stiles trying to find the most obnoxious songs on the radio to sing along to. Scott joined in for a while before Derek started elbowing him in the ribs. John was honestly surprised to see how relaxed and childish everyone was acting. He expected as much from Stiles, maybe not so much now but he used to. Though, that type of behavior he was not expecting from Derek. The man seemed so serious and unapproachable. Leave it to Stiles to make the man act like a kid again.

                "We should see if that rope swing is still up, Scott!" Stiles called back loudly, trying to make himself heard over the radio and the whooshing of the wind through the open windows.

                "Only if you go first this time!" Scott answered back, smiling playfully.

                The rope swing was in fact, still there. It seemed like it still got regular use, too, judging by the packed down dirt under it and the broken tree limbs to keep the path to the water clear. There were only about half a dozen more people loitering around the lake-a family with two small children staying close to the shore. Stiles and his group circled to the opposite bank with the swing and Scott immediately took off his shirt. John at least had the patience to bring all the bags from Stiles' truck (with Derek's help of course). He made himself busy taking out the food and drinks and setting them all on a nearby picnic table. He remembers when Stiles was younger and they had dragged the thing out here just for occasions like this. He smiled at the memory.

                Scott wasted no time in throwing his shirt on the ground, sprinting at the water, and leaping as far into the lake as possible. His splash was big enough to sprinkle droplets of water on Stiles who was slowly peeling his shirt off several feet from the edge of the water. Scott surfaced a second later, huge grin on his face and dark hair slicked back.

                "You have to jump off the swing, Stiles!" Scott called, flipping to float languidly on his back, tan chest bobbing above the water. Stiles hesitated a moment, looking over at Derek who was waiting with a reassuring smile by the rope. He already had his shirt off as well. Defined, toned muscles and sleek figure on show. It made Stiles self-consciously tug his shirt back down and drop his gaze to the ground in frustration and shame. Scott and Derek had no problem showing off their figure. Because they had one. They had abs and pecs, not bones and wiry muscles. Sure, Stiles had worked out a lot, and managed to pack on something, but he still looked like a toothpick next to them. He still was pale and thin. Weak looking.

                "Hey, you don't have to take your shirt off." Derek's words pulled him from his thoughts. He snapped his head up to see everyone looking at him with small smiles. He swallowed a few times before nodding and shaking off the thoughts. He smiled in return before running forward, snatching the rope from Derek's hand and swinging himself out over the lake. Stiles let go just as the momentum from the swing was about to send him back toward the bank, sending him flying through the air, arms and legs jerking and a yell ripped from his throat. He landed dangerously close to Scott, who dove under with him so they surfaced at the same time.

                "Derek's turn," Stiles called, backstroking lazily away from the shore. Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles before shrugging and swinging a pathetic distance into the lake.

___

                Stiles birthday the following spring was spent getting hug tackled by Scott and Isaac, and getting a crazy amount of Met's and Marvel merch. The whole pack ended up spending the night, and they stayed up well into the morning watching shit TV and eating pizza and leftover cake. Stiles woke up with a foot in his face and a stomach ache, but it was the happiest he'd been in a long time.

                Especially since Derek had promised him a birthday date the following day. So as soon as he could get everyone out of his house, he could go shower and get ready. Speaking of which, he should probably get Derek up, too.

                Taking a moment to stretch, he sat up slowly, blinking blearily around the living room. Scott and Isaac where sleeping on opposite sides of the couch, legs bent at awkward angles and feet dangling into the floor. Erica had somehow wormed her way off the chair during the night and between Stiles and Derek, sticking her cold feet on Stiles' pillow. He shoved her away as he turned over to shake Derek away. The Alpha must have heard him shifting around, though, (and Stiles had learned that Derek was a very light sleeper) because he was already awake and looking up at Stiles with a smirk.

                "We should ditch them and go get food," Derek whispered. Stiles snorted, feeling a mischievous spark rising in his chest. He nodded and slowly climbed to his feet, motioning for Derek to follow. They snuck upstairs and into Stiles' room without waking any werewolves, which was a feat in and of itself, honestly.

                Stiles fished out some clothes for both as them. They faced opposite directions while they quickly changed, before taking turns brushing their teeth in the bathroom and putting on their shoes. Derek led the way outside, convincing Stiles somehow that they should just take the window instead of the front door. Stiles hadn't done that in years, but it was exciting and fun and they were both laughing by the time they go into Derek's Camaro.

                When Derek dropped him off at home an hour later, everyone had already gone home, leaving their mess for Stiles to clean. He found his phone in the layers of blankets on the floor, a text from Scott and two from his dad.

                Scott's read: _'do u want to hang out tomorrow? sorry for leaving you to clean btw my mom called and everyone else left before i woke up...'_

                He replied with a sure before checking the messages from his dad. Which were just him checking in on his son and wishing him good luck on his date. He smiled at his phone, replying with a thanks before tossing the phone onto the coffee table so he wouldn't distract himself. The rest of his morning was spent divided between watching Saturday morning cartoons and slowly cleaning the kitchen and living room. By noon he had the house mostly clean and had taken a long shower in preparation for his date. Which wasn't for a few more hours. So that left him sitting in his underwear watching X-Men as he waited for it be an appropriate time to put on his date clothes. Well, they were less 'date clothes' and more a striped shirt and jeans. But that didn't mean he wanted them wrinkled or with food stains before he even left with Derek. If he was lucky he would get to wrinkle them later in the evening. Hopefully. Probably not.

                Derek had been hinting kind of heavily at tonight being _the night_ though. He kept shying away from any kind of next level kind of intimacy, stopping at kissing and cuddling. But maybe tonight Derek would finally pull the stick out of his ass. He was eighteen now. No longer illegal to touch him. So that excuse was gone. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out without bringing the subject up, honestly. If Derek denied him again he was going to ask for answers. Seriously, a guy could only get shot down so many times by his boyfriend before he starts thinking maybe he just isn't..desirable. It's not like those type of thoughts and worries weren't already floating around in his head. This just intensified them.

                Who was Stiles kidding anyways? Derek was ripped. He had the looks and the mysterious vibes and the kindness that was like everyone’s wet dream in a boyfriend. And him? He was scrawny and pale and obnoxious. Not to mention high maintenance. Seriously, who needed this much reassurance?

                No, wait. He was letting his worries control his thoughts again. Derek was with him. He was Derek's mate. They were in a mutually exclusive relationship and where both very happy. It was just his mind running away from him again. What had his therapist called it? Intrusive thoughts. That’s it. He had nothing to worry about.

                Except maybe the time, because somehow he had managed to burn through two and half hours without even noticing. Jumping up from the couch, he nearly fell twice on his mad dash up the stairs. He made it into his room and was almost dressed when the doorbell rang. Quickly he fastened the button on his jeans, grabbed his phone and house key off his dresser, and stomped down the staircase. He took a second to run a hand through his hair before bursting through the door and into the cool night air. Derek stepped back with a smile and a fist full of red roses.

                "Oh!" Stiles reacted at the sight, surprised at the gift. He saw Derek shift nervously before handing the flowers off to the human with a nod. Stiles stared dumbly at them for a few seconds as the gesture sunk in. He snapped out of it with a chuckle.

                "You got me flowers?" he asked incredulously, holding them close enough to get a smell. The petals were soft and cool on his cheek, lighting his eyes up with glee.

                "Yes. I wanted to be able to say I’ve done it at least once," Derek admitted, glancing from the bundle of roses to his feet before meeting Stiles' eyes again. Stiles bit back a knee-jerk sexual innuendo that he could have tacked onto that response. Instead he nodded sheepishly before stepping back inside to get a vase and water.

                A minute later he was back on the porch, door locked and hand in Derek's as they walked to the older man's car. The interior was warm, with Stiles' favorite station playing softly over the purr of the engine. Derek immediately pulled onto the road and started on his way to the interstate.

                "So where are we headed, exactly?" Stiles asked after a beat of silence, watching the trees and houses zoom by outside his window.

                "I thought we could eat dinner at my place. You can finally meet my family. My mom has been asking about you for months now," he suggests slowly, voice edged with obvious hesitance. As if Stiles would say no.

                "That sounds awesome, dude. I've only met Talia and Cora. Well, I know about Laura but we've never really talked before. How many siblings do you have again?" Stiles asked, turning to face Derek.

                "Three younger, one older. The youngest two are twins: Matthew and Sara and the third is Cora. Then me, then Laura," he answered easily, shooting Stiles a look.

                "Are they going to be the only ones there tonight?" he asked, hoping they were. Even though he was honestly in a much better place than when he first started therapy and Lexapro, he still wasn't completely comfortable eating around a lot of people.

                "Yes, I made sure of it. Laura isn't even bringing her mate tonight. It's just us eating and then heading to my place for a movie," he explained. And the thought of going to Derek's apartment, being alone in his apartment with just them, made Stiles' heart jump in his chest. He could feel the anxious heat rising in his stomach already. Maybe Derek really did plan to for tonight to be _the night._

                The sun was nearly entirely below the horizon when they pulled to a stop in Derek's front lawn. The setting sky made the house look pink and earthy, only adding to the beauty of the building. It was hard to think that it almost burned down all those years ago. Stiles climbed the steps behind Derek, distracting himself by taking in the sight of the tall trees and thick grass surrounding the house.

                "Derek! And Stiles, oh my God you were serious! I didn't think you would actually bring him," a voice drew Stiles attention to the door, and he recognized the girl standing there to be Derek's younger sister, Cora.

                "Hey," he offered, stepping along with Derek into the mud room. They kicked off their shoes before padding into the living room. Two dark haired children jumped up and dove at Derek as soon as he entered the room. Stiles watched, thoroughly amused, while they forced Derek to carry them around the room as they hung from his arms like monkeys. Cora just rolled her eyes and exited to the kitchen, probably to relieve her mother of kitchen duties long enough for her to say hello. Stiles must have been right, because a second later, Talia Hale walked calmly into the living room, eyes gentle and mouth drawn into a serene smile.

                "Stiles, it's good to finally meet you," she greeted, taking the human's hand in a firm grip as she spoke.

                "You too, Talia. Sorry it took so long for me to come meet you all," he said, feeling a little too formal and awkward. He stuck his hands in his pockets when she released him, glancing over to see Derek trying to get the children to calm down.

                "Don't worry about it. Are you hungry?" she asked, gesturing for him to follow as she led the way into the kitchen. Which was large and spacious with plates and glasses already waiting at the table for them, the smell of chicken and warm sauces making Stiles' stomach rumble. Cora looked up from her phone, already sitting at her place at the table.

                "Is it ready yet?" she asked, trying to subtly alleviate Stiles' shame by redirecting attention away from him. Food and appetite was still a little too raw for Stiles to deal with normally.

                "Yes, now come help me set the table," Talia answered, shooing her son's mate to take a seat at the table. It was their house after all, he was a guest and guests did not help set the table.

                Derek finally got the twins calm enough to walk into the kitchen and take their seats at the table. He followed suit, grabbing the chair beside Stiles so his sisters wouldn't try to gang up on him or something. They would most definitely try to embarrass him.

                "Laura, get your father and come and eat," Talia called from the doorway of the kitchen, just barely louder than the range she had been using. Just one of the many perks of being a werewolf, Stiles supposed, getting to yell across houses without actually having to yell.

                Several minutes later an older man that looked like a broader, hairier version of Derek walked into the room, followed by Laura.

                "Inias this is Stiles, Derek's mate," Talia announced as she moved to take her seat by her husband and mate. The man smiled warmly, dark eyes gleaming with a careful kind of awareness.

                "Nice to meet you finally," he answered, voice surprisingly not gruff or deep as Stiles had been expecting.

                "Nice to meet you, too," he replied, nodding at the man in lieu of a handshake. At least he knew where Derek got his looks and gentleness from now. He could honestly get pretty used to hanging out with Derek's family. They seemed so down to earth.

                They didn't give him weird looks or make any comments when he only ate about half of the food on his plate, asking to take home the rest. He was trying, and whether they realized that or not, they weren't being assholes. So that made them okay people in his book. People he could see as his in-laws in some day. And holy shit he was thinking about _that_ again. They hadn't even said the 'l word' yet and Stiles already was day dreaming of making Derek a constant fixture in his life.

                Could anyone really blame him though? Serious. Derek was...everything he wanted. Everything he needed. He was there for him at one of his worst moments and didn't even bat an eye. He helped Stiles feel happy again. Helped him back onto his feel when he thought he was too weak to do it himself. Derek fucking saved his life, whether he liked to admit that or not.

                And he was grateful. He was happy. After years of slowly spirally down, Stiles was finally standing up again. He was finally able to look into his future again and see something positive. That was peace, a gift, he hoped he never lost again. Because he was going to fight for his happiness, just like he had been. And he knew that Derek would be there beside him every step of the way, helping and encouraging him. They had each other, and that's all Stiles could really ask for.

                ___

(non-plot essential sex scene)

                Stiles was right. Derek had definitely planned for that night to be _the night._ He probably didn't even plan on them to watch a movie at all. A point Stiles wasn't complaining about, at all.

                The man's apartment was warm when they stepped inside, the soft glow of the street lamps on the city street below casting a gentle light through the living room. The mood flowed into something languid and easy as they silently toed off their shoes and stripped their jackets off, leaving them hanging over a table by the door. Stiles heart was steady ticking faster and faster as they walked to the couch.

                The cushions felt softer than normal when Stiles plopped down beside Derek. When the Alpha made no move to turn on the TV, Stiles felt his stomach twist pleasantly in edgy eagerness. This was it. This was what he had been waiting for, for months now.

                He nearly choked when he saw Derek lean forward to grab the remote from the coffee table. Before he even realized what he was doing he had already grabbed Derek's hand and tugged him back against the couch.

                "No, I like this," he said quietly as an explanation, still holding the other man's hand in his own. A long moment of silence passed between them, the only sound the occasional car passing by on the street below.

                "Are you sure?" Derek asked hesitantly, and Stiles was self-aware enough to realize that Derek was not just asking whether Stiles wanted to watch TV or not. He was making sure Stiles was okay. That he still wanted to go forward with their unspoken agreement for it being the night. _The night._

                "Yeah, I'm sure," Stiles confirmed, slowly turning to face Derek on the couch, pulling the other man's hand close to him and resting it firmly on his hip. He heard Derek swallow loudly as he slowly slipped a leg over Derek's lap to straddle his thighs. He took the man's free hand and rested it on his other hip, moving his own to Derek's shoulders.

                "Are _you_ sure?" Stiles parroted back at him, trying to hide the way his voice was nearly quivering with anxiety, the way he felt like he was about to vibrate apart at the seams. He dug his fingers into Derek's shirt to try to still the shakiness, taking a slow, deep breath to calm his heart.

                "I'm sure, Stiles," Derek answered, licking his lips as he eased forward into the small space separating them. The dim light from the tall windows cast harsh shadows along his cheekbones and lips, catching a gleam from his eyes and turning them to a sheen of silver for a second as he shifted forward.

                Stiles breath caught in his throat when their lips touched. It felt like their first kiss, like every kiss since. It felt like he was feeling Derek for the first time.

The chaste feather light glide of skin steadily eased into something much more heated. They slotted together perfectly, pushing and sliding fluidly against one another. It wasn't long before they were breathing heavily, pulling away to sigh out against the other's cheek before pushing back into the other's lips for more. Stiles was the first to deepen the kisses, sliding his tongue out to lick along Derek's bottom lip teasingly. He earned a groan in response as Derek opened his mouth. Stiles ran his tongue lightly along Derek's teeth, noting with glee the slight sharpness of his canines, before licking lightly against the roof of his mate's mouth. Derek shivered and tightened his fingers minutely on Stiles' hips. They pulled away to share a few more heated kisses before Derek licked his way into Stiles' mouth. He returned the motions Stiles had made, drawing a sigh and muffled curse from the human.

                "You copied me," Stiles chastised when they pulled away once more, smile pulling at his lips and his nerves slowly melting away. Derek only grinned in response as he leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to Stiles' throat. The human hummed in approval, tilting his head to the side to offer more space for Derek to work.

                Derek gave into his instincts a bit, allowing himself to take the opportunity to taste his mate, to breath in his scent as thoroughly as possible. He took a deep breath, nearly groaning at the taste of arousal that bloomed in the back of his throat. The smell of cinnamon and salt and earth was exactly Stiles, exactly his mate. It made his skin tingle, lit a fire in his belly. He dipped forward again to devour more of his mate's untouched body, licking a small strip from his jugular to his ear. Stiles shivered at the feeling, letting his eyes drift closed as he lost himself in the feeling of his boyfriend touching him. He was already starting to get hard from the ministrations.

                Derek bit the skin under his ear softly before moving back to lavish attention to the thin flesh surrounding his tendon, which was popping boldly out against his skin from the way he was tilting his head. He sucked the pale skin into his mouth, pulling a moan from Stiles as he left a mark and made his way to the human's collarbone. He peppered kisses and gentle bites along the smooth skin, working his way slowly back up to Stiles jaw.

                Stiles turned his head to capture Derek's mouth in a furious kiss, sliding his hands up to work his fingers into Derek's thick hair. When he tugged at the man's hair to get him to tilt his head, Derek let out a loud hiss of pleasure, swallowing back his groan at the sensation. Stiles smirked at his reaction, bending forward to press his own lips against Derek's jaw.

                He pressed slow, deliberate kisses along the Alpha’s stubbled jaw, slowly making his way to the tender skin of his neck. He bit softly at his jugular, drawing a rumbling growl from the man which brought a smile to his face, before pulling the flesh into his mouth to suck a mark into his skin. He pulled away to watch the mark quickly fade from his skin. He repeated the action, pulling away again to watch as the hickey faded. Derek huffed, taking his mate's focused attention to slip his hands under Stiles' shirt and feel his way along his sides.

                Stiles stilled in his lap, surprised at the feeling of warm hands gliding firmly against his waist and ribs. Derek froze his hands, waiting for Stiles' approval to continue. He knew the human was still hesitant about his body.

                Stiles pressed his cheek against Derek's and let his eyes drift closed, nodding gently to let him know it was okay. His heart pounded in his chest as Derek's hands smoothed along his sides several more times before gliding along his stomach and up his chest. He bit his lip, enjoying the firm feeling of Derek's hands rubbing along his skin.

                Derek let his hands slowly run over Stiles' chest, rubbing his thumbs experimentally over Stiles nipples to gauge his reaction. At the sigh and quickening of his heart he would guess it was a positive one, so he repeated the motion. Stiles sucked in a quick breath at the way the action sent a pulse of pleasure straight to his dick. It'd never felt that way when he played with his nipples himself. Fuck.

                Derek nudged Stiles cheek with his nose, getting him to tilt his head to the side again so he could work along his neck. He had enjoyed it just about as much as Stiles' had. The feeling of his mate under his hands and around his teeth his addicting, and there was something about Stiles offering himself over so easily, trusting Derek so completely, that made his dick twitch. Maybe it was a wolf thing. Or maybe he just had a thing for necking, but with every groan or curse he drew from Stiles he could feel himself getting harder in his underwear. His pants were starting to feel almost painfully tight, actually.

                "Fuck," Stiles mumbled, shivering at the overstimulation he was receiving. He let his hands fall from Derek's hair back to his shoulders, gripping at the thick material as he tried to catch his breath. He was aching in his underwear, pants feeling tight enough to hurt. He shifted a bit to try to relieve the pressure, groaning loudly when he in-avertedly rubbed himself against Derek's abs. He was honestly too far gone to really care if it was weird, all he could feel was Derek's hands on his chest and his mouth on his neck. He slowly ground his hips forward again, shuddering at the friction it caused. His hips thrust forward again quickly, drawing a low moan from his throat at the pleasure it shot through him.

                Derek either didn't notice he was rubbing himself against his stomach or didn't care, because he didn't even falter in the rhythm he had begun. Stiles took it as the okay to continue, sliding his aching dick along the hard muscles of Derek's stomach again. He could already feel the warm tightening in his lower stomach, making his toes curl in anticipation. He thrust forward again, once, twice, before he gasped loudly and came with a drawn out groan. Fuck. He'd just came in his pants. Like the virgin teenage boy he was. Dammit.

                "Shit," he breathed, panting to catch his breath. His skin was pleasantly warm and tingling with the feeling of his orgasm. His shirt was sticking to his back and making him feel sweaty. He wanted to go change and sleep the embarrassment off. But Derek had other thoughts, because he just pulled his hands from Stiles' shirt to cup his face and tug the younger man into a heated kiss.

                "You're not..?" Stiles wasn't sure exactly what to say, a bit confused as to why Derek wasn't laughing at him. He would honestly probably at least chuckle a little if Derek came in his pants.

                "That was honestly the hottest thing ever, Stiles," he admitted with a smirk, resting his hands on the human's hips again. Stiles took a shocked second to process what the werewolf had said before widening his eyes and staring questioningly at the man.

                "That's probably weird, but just...let's continue," Derek suggested, tipping his head to place a soft kiss to Stiles' throat before wrapping his arms firmly around his mate and standing. Stiles squaked, hooking his ankles together around Derek's waist and throwing his arms around his neck.

                "I'm all for that, but a little warning next time before you just pick a guy up, yeah?" he said with a wide smile, relaxing in Derek's hold. So his first sexual experience had been prettying freaking good.

                He hoped it was like this every time they made love. He hoped that they would maintain this kind of give and take for the rest of the lives. It was perfect. He loved it. He loved Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is welcome and I will gladly take into account any suggestions and fix any mistakes. Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> So in this universe werewolves are know and accepted. They make up like 25% of the population, with most of those being bitten wolves.  
> Shifts: In this werewolves are capable of three different shifts. A semi shift (fangs, eyes, claws). A half shift (tails, hair, brow change, and ears). A full shift (actual wolf). Only around 5% of werewolves can do a full shift, Talia Hale being one. Most born children can but loose the ability at around age 4. If you want more info just ask. Link below for a visual. [Visuals.](http://imgur.com/a/BHnDM)  
> To be considered to be bitten and turned, you have to be at least 16 with parents permission. You have fill a form, pay a fee, and submit it to the public offices of inter-species relations. They will find a suitable Alpha and interviews will be held. If the Alpha likes the human they will move to a full check up, screening, and background check. Then a final interview and confirmation. They can then be turned. New Alphas can only have 3 betas for their first 3 years. There are no limit to packs outside of that, so long as an Alpha can control them. Also, note that if someone is turned against their will the Alpha can be charged and sentenced to jail. If the turned kills or hurts someone the Alpha is held responsible and can be sentenced to death. All newly turned have to stay with an Alpha for at least 3 months.  
> Lastly, the roles of Alpha, Beta, and Omega are more fluid, and ingrained in this AU than on the show.  
> Any questions or comments or critics feel free to let me know!


End file.
